“Ay, your honour. The gentlemen seem a bit put out, too.”

“That is quite probable. Does the smaller gentleman wear somewhat⁠—ah⁠—muddied garments?”

“I can’t see, sir; he stands behind the fat gentleman.”

“ Mr. Bumble Bee.⁠ ⁠… Jim!”

“Sir!” Jim turned quickly at the sound of the sharp voice.

He found that my lord had risen, and was holding up a waistcoat of pea-green pattern on a bilious yellow ground, between a disgusted finger and thumb. Before his severe frown Jim dropped his eyes and stood looking for all the world like a schoolboy detected in some crime.

“You put this⁠—this monstrosity⁠—out for me to wear?” in awful tones.