It wouldn't do any particular harm even to call in it, if the people were
used to you. But--"
"I look dressed up?"
"Like a fashion plate--like a tailor--like a society actor."
"What shall I wear?"
"Oh, just throw yourself together any old way. Business suit's good
enough."
"But I barely know these people--socially. I never called there," I
objected.
"Then don't call," he advised. "Send your valet in a cab to leave a card
at the door. Calling has gone clean out--unless a man's got something very
especial in mind. Never show that you're eager. Keep your hand hid."
"They'd know I had something especial in mind if I called?"
"Certainly, and if you'd gone in those togs, they'd have assumed you had
come to--to ask the old man for his daughter--or something like that."
I lost no time in getting back into a business suit.
A week passed and, just as I was within sight of my limit of patience,
Bromwell Ellersly appeared at my office. "I can't put my hand on the
necessary cash, Mr. Blacklock--at least, not for a few days. Can I count
on your further indulgence?" This in his best exhibit of old-fashioned
courtliness--the "gentleman" through and through, ignorant of anything
useful.
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