heroine had become for him Teresa, Countess of
Rochester, the Opera singer himself, and the Russian Prince Maniloff.

Then the deepening dusk tore him from the book. Work had to be done.

He rang the bell, told Mrs. Henshaw that he was going to the railway
station to see after his luggage, took his cap, and went out. Strangely
enough he did not feel nervous. The first flurry had passed, and he had
adapted himself to the situation, the deepening darkness gave him a
sense of security, and the lights of the shops cheered him somehow.

He turned to the left towards the sea.

Fifty yards down the street he came across a Gentlemen's Outfitters, in
whose windows coloured neckties screamed, and fancy shirts raised their
discordant voices with Gent's summer waistcoats and those panama hats,
adored in the year of this story by the river and sea-side youth.

Jones, under the hands of Rochester's valet, and forced by circumstances
to use Rochester's clothes, was one of the best dressed men in London.
Left to himself in this matter he was lost. He had no idea of what to
wear or what not to wear, no idea of the social damnation that lies in
tweed trousers not turned up at the bottom, fancy waistcoats, made
evening ties, a bowler worn with a black morning coat, or dog-skin
gloves. Heinenberg and Obermann of Philadelphia had dressed him till
Stultz unconsciously took the business over. He was barely conscious of
the incongruity of his present get-up topped by the tweed shooting cap
of Hoover's, but he was quite conscious of the fact that some alteration
in dress was imperative as a means towards escape from
Sandbourne-on-Sea.

He entered the shop of Towler and Simpkinson, bought a six and
elevenpenny panama, put it on and had the tweed cap done up in a parcel.
Then a flannel coat attracted him, a grey flannel tennis coat price
fifteen shillings. It fitted him to a charm, save for the almost
negligible fact that the sleeves came down nearly to his knuckles. Then
he bought a night shirt for three and eleven, and had the whole lot done
up in one parcel.

At a chemist's next door he bought a tooth brush. In the mirror across
the counter he caught a glimpse of himself in the panama. It seemed to
him that not only had he never looked so well in any other head gear,
but that his appearance was completely altered.

Charmed and comforted he left the shop. Next door to the chemist's and
at the street corner was a public house.

Jones