I did brush my trousers a lot
this morning--really. I brushed them for quite half an hour; but there
are some mark----"

He held out his right leg and looked at it hopelessly.

"Stains, I suppose," he said.

"You'd be better," I said, "if you had a tie."

Tim put his hand up to his neck and felt about helplessly.

"I must have forgotten to put it on," he said. "I have one, I know. But
it's very hard to remember ties. They are such small things."

"Take one of mine," I said, "and put it on before you forget again."

"Anything else?" said Tim.

"I don't think," I said, "that there's anything else we can do. My
clothes wouldn't fit you. I might lend you a pair of boots but I doubt
if you'd get them on. I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll get yours
cleaned. Take them off."

I do not think that my servant liked cleaning Tim's boots. But he did it
and I daresay it was good for him.

I was a little anxious about the meeting between Mrs. Ascher and Tim.
When they parted in New York she was deeply vexed with him and I could
not think it likely that a woman as devout as she is would readily
forgive a man who had been guilty of blasphemy. On the other hand she
had very graciously accepted my invitation to be present when the new
invention was shown off. She might, of course, only wish to hear
the other Gorman making a speech; but she might have forgotten Tim's
offence, or changed her mind about its heinousness. In any case Tim's
clothes would make no difference to her. Miss Gibson might think less of
him for being shabby. But Mrs. Ascher was quite likely to prefer him in
rags. Many people regard unkemptness as a sign of genius; which is, I
daresay, the reason why poets seldom wash their necks.

I need not have troubled myself about the matter. Mrs. Ascher took no
notice of Tim. She was sitting in the saloon carriage when we reached
the station and was surrounded with newspapers. She greeted me with
effusion.

"Isn't it glorious?" she said. "Splendid. We have shown them that we
too can do daring things, even the sort of things in which they take a
special pride. The practical things which the world boasts of, which we
artists are not supposed to be able to do at all."

"I haven't seen a paper this morning," I said. "Has any one assassinated
the Prime Minister?"

"Look!" she said.

She held out one of the newspapers towards me. I did not have to take it
in my hand to see the news. I could have read the headlines f