Four days later Lewis sat beside his bed, piled high with all the paraphernalia that go to make up a gentleman’s wardrobe and toilet.  He was very nervous—­so nervous that he had passed an hour striding from one side of the small bedroom to the other, making up his mind to try to carry out his father’s instructions, which were simply to go to his room and dress.  Lewis had never in his life put on a collar or knotted a tie.

He answered a knock on the door with a cry of dismay.  Leighton strode into the room.

“Well, what’s the matter?”

Lewis looked ruefully from his father’s face to the things on the bed and back again.  He felt himself flushing painfully.  He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it.

Suddenly Leighton’s face lit up.  He laughed.

“Well, well,” he cried, “this is splendid!  You’ve given me a new sensation.”  He yanked a bath-robe from the bed.  “Here, you savage, shed those leather togs, but don’t lose them.  You’ll want to take them out and look at them some stuffy day.  Now put this on and run to your bath.”

When Lewis came back to the room he found most of his things had been packed away in the big, new trunk.  On the bed certain garments were laid out.  They were laid out in correct order.

Leighton stood beside the bed in a deferential attitude.  His face was a blank.  “Will you be wearing the white flannels to-night, sir, or the dinner-jacket?  If you will allow me, I would suggest the flannels.  Sultry evening, and Mr. Leighton will be dining on the terrace.”

“Yes, I’ll wear the flannels,” stammered Lewis.

“Your singlet, sir,” said Leighton, picking up the undershirt from the bed.  Article after article he handed to his son in allotted order.  Lewis put each thing on as fast as his nervous hands would let him.  He tried to keep his eyes from wandering to the head of the line, where lay collar and tie.  The collar had been buttoned to the back of the shirt, but when it came to fastening it in front, Lewis’s fingers fumbled hopelessly.

“Allow me, sir,” said Leighton.  He fastened the collar deftly.  “I see you don’t like that tie with the flannels, sir.  My mistake.”

He threw open the trunk, and took out a brown cravat of soft silk.  “Your brown scarf, sir.  It goes well with the flannels.  Will you watch in the glass, sir?” He placed the cravat, measured it carefully, knotted it, and drew it up.

Lewis did not watch in the mirror.  His eyes were fixed on his father’s mask of a face.  He knew that, inside, his father was bubbling with fun; but no ripple showed in his face, no disrespectful twinkle in his eye.  Leighton was playing the game.  Suddenly, for no reason that he could name, Lewis began to adore his father.

“Will that do, sir?”

“Certainly,” stammered Lewis.  “Very nicely, thank you”

“Thank you, sir,” said Leighton.  He handed Lewis the flannel trousers and then the coat.