hat of mine?" he asked, turning to me. It was that sudden I nearly fluffed the catch, but recovered myself in time.
"I should consider it a hat of sound wearing properties, sir," I said.
He took it off, examined it carefully, and replaced it.
"So far, so good," he said gravely. "But why be fussy about clothes when God has given you only one life to live?"
"Don't argue about religion," warned Cousin Egbert.
"I always like to see people well dressed, sir," I said, "because it makes such a difference in their appearance."
He slapped his thigh fiercely. "My gosh! that's true. He's got you there, Sour-dough. I never thought of that."
"He makes me wear these chest-protectors on my ankles," said Cousin Egbert bitterly, extending one foot.
"What's the matter of taking a little drive to see some well-known objects of interest?" said his friend.
"Not art galleries," said Cousin Egbert firmly.
"We said that before—and not churches."
"And not gents' furnishing goods."
"You said that before."
"Well, you said not churches before."
"Well, what's the matter with taking a little drive?"
"Not art galleries," insisted Cousin Egbert. The thing seemed interminable. I mean to say, they went about the circle as before. It looked to me as if they were having a bit of a spree.
"We'll have one last drink," said the Tuttle person.
"No," said Cousin Egbert firmly, "not another drop. Don't you see the condition poor Bill here is in?" To my
