in Clither's
Bank knew it. The general theory in Hanbridge was "Him's got a stiff
opinion o' hisself." But this arose from what was really a sign of
humility in him. He made the most of himself. He had, for instance, a
way of his own in the matter of dressing. He always wore a voluminous
frock-coat, with a pair of neatly-striped vicuna trousers, which he
placed every night under his mattress, thus preserving in perfection
the crease down the centre of each. His collar was of the highest,
secured in front with an aluminium stud, to which was attached by a
patent loop a natty bow of dove-coloured sateen. He had two caps,
one of blue serge, the other of shepherd's plaid. These he wore on
alternate days. He wore them in a way of his own--well back from his
forehead, so as not to hide his hair, and with the peak behind. The
peak made a sort of half-moon over the back of his collar. Through a
fault of his tailor, there was a yawning gap between the back of his
collar and the collar of his coat. Whenever he shook his head, the
peak of his cap had the look of a live thing trying to investigate
this abyss. Dimly aware of the effect, Albert Grapp shook his head as
seldom as possible.

On wet days he wore a mackintosh. This, as he did not yet possess a
great-coat, he wore also, but with less glory, on cold days. He had
hoped there might be rain on Christmas morning. But there was no rain.
"Like my luck," he said as he came out of his lodgings and turned
his steps to that corner of Jubilee Avenue from which the
Hanbridge-Bursley trams start every half-hour.

Since Jos Wrackgarth had introduced him to his sister at the Hanbridge
Oddfellows' Biennial Hop, when he danced two quadrilles with her, he
had seen her but once. He had nodded to her, Five Towns fashion, and
she had nodded back at him, but with a look that seemed to say "You
needn't nod next time you see me. I can get along well enough without
your nods." A frightening girl! And yet her brother had since told him
she seemed "a bit gone, like" on him. Impossible! He, Albert Grapp,
make an impression on the brilliant Miss Wrackgarth! Yet she had sent
him a verbal invite to spend Christmas in her own home. And the time
had come. He was on his way. Incredible that he should arrive! The
tram must surely overturn, or be struck by lightning. And yet no! He
arrived safely.

The small servant who opened the door gave him another verbal message
from Miss Wrackgarth. It was that he