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 he said. "I have always been worried—by all sorts of things—and upset. Now, with twenty-five dollars a week, and lots of time to myself, I'll be able to do something—something worth while." And on their way back to their lodgings—all his worries untangled, and his future as straight and level as the street before him—he walked with her on his arm, as stiffly as a schoolboy who marches beside the music of a military band, almost strutting, his face stern with ambition and as pale as if the shock and glory of battle were awaiting him at the foot of the street.

Walter Pittsey took him, in the morning, to be "outfitted," and lent him money for his purchases, and advised him on the styles with the experience of a man to whom the art of economical good dressing has been a study. Pittsey knew where to find ready-made clothing that could not be known from tailor-made; he chose a necktie with deliberation; he spent an hour in search of an overcoat that should fill out Don's shoulders and still preserve the distinction of his lean height; he made Don try on several different styles of shoes, frowning and shaking his head as he studied over them; and when he had finished, Don, for thirty dollars, was apparently a young gentleman of fashion dressed in the faultless simplicity of quiet good taste. "Now," Pittsey said, "I've noticed that you have the English trick of saying 'sir' to your elders. You had better cut it out with Kuffman; he doesn't understand that sort of thing, you know. Just behave with him as you did with Kidder, at first—as if Well, I suppose if