“Good morning, Mr. Fenton,” said Benedict, cheerfully.

Jim, who had been in deep thought, looked up, and said: 

“Do ye know that that don’t seem so queer to me as it used to?  It seems all right fur pertickler friends to call me Jim, but clo’es is what puts the Mister into a man.  I felt it comin’ when I looked into the glass.  Says I to myself:  ’Jim, that’s Mr. Fenton as is now afore ye.  Look at ’im sharp, so that, if so be ye ever seen ‘im agin’ ye’ll know ‘im.’  I never knowed exactly where the Mister come from afore.  Ye have to be measured for’t.  A pair o’ shears, an’ a needle an’ thread, an’ a hot goose is what changes a man into a Mister.  It’s a nice thing to find out, but it’s uncomf’table.  It ain’t so bad as it would be if ye couldn’t strip it off when ye git tired on’t, an’ it’s a good thing to know.”

“Do clothes make Belcher a gentleman?” inquired Mr. Benedict.

“Well, it’s what makes him a Mister, any way.  When ye git his clo’es off thar ain’t nothin’ left of ’im.  Dress ’im up in my old clo’es, as has got tar enough on ’em to paint a boat, an’ there wouldn’t be enough man in ’im to speak to.”

How long Jim would have indulged in his philosophy of the power of dress had he not been disturbed will never be known, for at this moment Mr. Balfour knocked at his door, and was admitted.  Sam Yates followed, and both looked Jim over and pronounced him perfect.  Even these familiar friends felt the power of dress, and treated Jim in a way to which he had been unaccustomed.  The stalwart figure, developed in every muscle, and becomingly draped, was well calculated to excite their admiration.  The refractory hair which had given its possessor so much trouble, simply made his head impressive and picturesque.  There was a man before them—­humane, brave, bright, original.  All he wanted was culture.  Physical and mental endowments were in excess, and the two men, trained in the schools, had learned to love—­almost to revere him.  Until he spoke, they did not feel at home with him in his new disguise.

They all descended to breakfast together.  Jim was quiet under the feeling that his clothes were an unnatural expression of himself, and that his words would make them a mockery.  He was awed, too, by the presence of Mrs. Balfour, who met him at the table for the first time in her life.  The sharp-eyed, smiling Yankee girls who waited at the meal, were very much devoted to Jim, who was ashamed to receive so much attention.  On the whole, it was the most uncomfortable breakfast he had ever eaten, but his eyes were quick to see all that was done, for he was about to open a hotel, and wished particularly to learn the details of the table service.