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"This is a game that's got to be played according to the rules. Why, if you put down spot cash before Mertoun's eyes he'd faint from surprise, and when he came to, he'd have no respect for you. And a tailor's respect for you," continued Cressey, the sage, "shows in your togs." "When do I pay, then?" "Oh, in three or four months he sends around a bill.
Prospectively poorer by something more than four hundred dollars, Banneker emerged from Mertoun's with his mentor. "Gotta get home and dress for a rotten dinner," announced that gentleman cheerfully. "Duck in here with me," he invited, indicating a sumptuous bar, near the tailor's, "and get another little kick in the stomach. No? Oh, verrawell. Where are you for?" "The Public Library."
They like to do things right, at Mertoun's. Ought to, too; they stick you enough for it." "How much?" "Not much short of a hundred for a sack suit." Banneker was amazed. The choicest "made-to-measure" in his Universal Guide, "Snappy, fashionable, and up to the minute," came to less than half of that.
Self-command I have preached to myself, calmness and courage; for years I have believed I possessed them all and was Gerald Mertoun's master, and yet at the first blow I spend hours of the night in madness and railing against Fate. But one thing I can comfort myself with that I wore a calm face and could speak like a man until I was alone. Thank God for that."
I'll put you in my bank; they'll take you on for five hundred." Arrived at Mertoun's, Banneker unobtrusively but positively developed a taste of his own in the matter of hue and pattern; one, too, which commanded Cressey's respect. The gilded youth's judgment tended toward the more pronounced herringbones and homespuns.
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