which he carefully
removed all traces of dust from his nether garments; after that came a
pair of light-coloured "pats," which he fitted on to his boots; then
came a bottle of hair-oil, and afterwards a highly-starched "dicky," or
shirt-front, with a stud in it, which by a complicated series of strings
the owner contrived to fasten round his neck so as to conceal
effectually the flannel shirt-front underneath. Once more he dived, and
this time the magic box yielded up what seemed to Horace's uninitiated
eyes to be a broad strip of stiff cardboard, but which turned out to be
a collar of fearful and wonderful proportions, which, when once
adjusted, fully explained the wisdom displayed by the wearer in not
deferring the brushing of his trousers and the donning of his "pats" to
a later stage of the proceedings. For nothing, not even a pickpocket at
his gilt watch-chain with its pendant "charms," could lower his chin a
quarter of an inch till bed-time. But more was yet to come. There were
cuffs to put on, which left one to guess what had become of Mr Booms's
knuckles, and a light jaunty necktie to embellish the "dicky." Then,
with a plaintive sigh, he produced a blue figured waistcoat, and after
it a coat shaped like the coat of a robin to cover all. Finally there
appeared a hat, broad-brimmed, low-crowned, and dazzling in its
glossiness, a pair of gay dogskin gloves, a crutch walking-stick, a pink
silk handkerchief, and then this joint work of art and nature was
complete!

"All right?" said he, in melancholy tones, as he set his hat a little on
one side of his head, and, with his stick under his arm, began with his
gloves.

Waterford got up and walked slowly and critically round him, giving a
few touches here and there, and brushing a little stray dust from his
collar.

"All right, dear boy. Mind how you go, and--"

"Oh!" groaned Booms, in tones of dire distress, "I knew I should forget
something. Would you mind, Waterford?"

"What is it?"

"My glass--it's in the box, and--and I should have got it out before I
put the collar on. Thanks; I should have been lost without it. Oh! if
I _had_ forgotten it!"

With this awful reflection in his mind he bade a sorrowful good-night
and walked off, with his head very erect, his elbows high up, and one
hand fondling the nearly-neglected eyeglass.

"Pretty, isn't it?" said Waterford, as he disappeared.

"It is--rot," said Horace, emphatically. "Why ever don't you l