Gordon Makimmon, with secret dissatisfaction,
compared himself with this sartorial model. Gordon's
attire, purely serviceable, had apparently
taken on a protective coloring from the action of
time and the elements; his shirt had faded from a
bright buff to a nondescript shade which blended
with what had once been light corduroy trousers;
his heavy shoes, treated only the evening before to
a coat of preservative grease, were now covered with
muck; and, pulled over his eyes, a shapeless canvas
hat completed the list of the visible items of his
appearance.

He swore moodily to himself as he considered the
picture he must present to the dapper youth and immaculate
girl behind him. He should have remembered
that Lettice Hollidew would be returning
from school today, and at least provided an emergency
collar. His sister Clare was always scolding
him about his clothes... but Clare's was very gentle
scolding.

A species of uncomfortable defiance, a studied
contempt for appearance, possessed him: he was as
good any day as Buckley Simmons, the clothes on
whose back had probably been stripped from the
desperate need of some lean mountain inhabitant
trading at the parental Simmons' counter. The
carefully cherished sense of injury grew within him;
he suspected innuendoes, allusions to his garb, in the

[[15]]

p014 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p015w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p016

v?