Page:The Works of H G Wells Volume 8.djvu/283

 Coote protruded his lips and reflected. "Not full dress," he adjudicated; "that would be a little excessive. But you should change, you know. Put on a mess jacket and that sort of thing—easy dress. That is what I should do, certainly, if I wasn't in harness—and poor."

He coughed modestly and patted his hair behind.

And after that the washing bill of Kipps quadrupled, and he was to be seen at times by the bandstand with his light summer overcoat unbuttoned to give a glimpse of his nice white tie. He and Coote would be smoking the gold-tipped cigarettes young Walshingham had prescribed as chic, and appreciating the music highly. "That's—puff—a very nice bit," Kipps would say, or better, "That's nace." And at the first grunts of the loyal anthem, up they stood with religiously uplifted hats. Whatever else you might call them, you could never call them disloyal.

The boundary of Society was admittedly very close to Coote and Kipps, and a leading solicitude of the true gentleman was to detect clearly those "beneath" him, and to behave towards them in a proper spirit. "It's jest there it's so 'ard for me," said Kipps. He had to cultivate a certain "distance," to acquire altogether the art of checking the presumption of bounders and old friends. It was difficult, Coote admitted.

"I got mixed up with this lot 'ere," said Kipps. "That's what's so harkward—I mean awkward."

"You could give them a hint," said Coote.

Ow?"

"Oh!—the occasion will suggest something."