In the organization of his new life a
first-class tailor was essential, and he was not acquainted with a
first-class London tailor. He did not know a great deal concerning
clothes, though quite passably well dressed for a provincial, but he
knew enough to be sure that it was impossible to judge the merits of
a tailor by his signboard, and therefore that if, wandering in the
precincts of Bond Street, he entered the first establishment that
"looked likely," he would have a good chance of being "done in the
eye." So he phrased it to himself as he lay in bed. He wanted a
definite and utterly reliable address.
He rang the bell. Only, as it happened to be the wrong bell, he
obtained the presence of Joseph in a roundabout way, through the
agency of a gentleman-in-waiting. Such, however, is the human faculty
of adaptation to environment that he was merely amused in the morning
by an error which, on the previous night, would have put him into a
sweat.
"Good morning, sir," said Joseph.
Edward Henry nodded, his hands under his head as he lay on his back.
He decided to leave all initiative to Joseph. The man drew up the
blinds, and closing the double windows at the top opened them very
wide at the bottom.
"It is a rainy morning, sir," said Joseph, letting in vast quantities
of air from Devonshire Square.
Clearly, Sir Nicholas Winkworth had been a breezy master.
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