over to
Hanbridge about a large order from Bostocks, the recently established
drapers there whose extravagant advertising had shocked and pained the
commerce of the Five Towns. Darius had told him to `titivate himself,'
a most startling injunction from Darius, and thus the new costly suit
had been, as it were, officially blessed and henceforth could not be
condemned.

"How do, Teddy?" Charlie greeted him. "I've just been in to see you at
your shop."

Edwin paused.

"Hello! The Sunday!" he said quietly. And he kept thinking, as his
eyes noted details of Charlie's raiment, "It's a bit of luck I've got
these clothes on." And he was in fact rather sorry that Charlie
probably paid no real attention to clothes. The new suit had caused
Edwin to look at everybody's clothes, had caused him to walk
differently, and to put his shoulders back, and to change the style of
his collars; had made a different man of Edwin.

"Come in, will you?" Edwin suggested.

They went into the shop together. Stifford smiled at them both, as if
to felicitate them on the chance which had brought them together.

"Come in here," said Edwin, indicating the small office.

"The lion's den, eh?" observed the Sunday.

He, as much as Edwin, was a little tongue-tied and nervous.

"Sit down, will you?" said Edwin, shutting the door. "No, take the
arm-chair. I'll absquatulate on the desk. I'd no idea you were down.
When did you come?"

"Last night, last train. Just a freak, you know."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

TWO.

They were within a foot of each other in the ebonised cubicle. Edwin's
legs were swinging a few inches away from the arm-chair. His hat was at
the back of his head, and Charlie's hat was at the back of Charlie's
head. This was their sole point of resemblance. As Edwin
surreptitiously examined the youth who had once been his intimate
friend, he experienced the half-sneering awe of the provincial for the
provincial who has become a Londoner. Charlie was changed; even his
accent was changed. He and Edwin belonged to utterly different worlds
now. They seldom saw the same scenes or thought the same things. But
of course they were obliged by loyalty to the past to pretend that
nothing was changed.

"You've not altered much," said Edwin.

And indeed, when Charlie smiled, he was almost precisely the old Sunday,
despite his metropolitan mannerisms. And there was nothing