THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"Hello, old chap, who's dead?" It was Harry's gay voice. "You look like a tomb." He put his arm through Ranald's and walked with him up the street.
"Where are you going now?" he asked, as Ranald walked along in silence.
"To get some clothes."
"Thank the great powers!" ejaculated Harry to himself.
"What?"
"And where are you going to get them?"
"I do not know—some store, I suppose." Ranald had the vaguest notions not only of where he should go, but of the clothes in which he ought to array himself, but he was not going to acknowledge this to his friend.
"You can't get any clothes fit to wear in this town," said Harry, in high contempt. Ranald's heart sank. "But come along, we will find something."
As they passed in front of the little French shops, with windows filled inside and out with ready-made garments, Ranald paused to investigate.
"Oh! pshaw," cried Harry, "don't know what you'll get here. We'll find something better than this cheap stuff," and Ranald, glad enough of guidance, though uncertain as to where it might lead him, followed meekly.
"What sort of a suit do you want?" said Harry.
"I don't know," said Ranald, doubtfully. It had never occurred to him that there could be any great
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