The man’s expression changed to one of cheerfulness and benignity.  “Right you are, sir,” he said, and shut down the door in a manner that suggested entire appreciation of the circumstances.

“I think we can trust him,” said poppa.  Inside, therefore, we gave ourselves up to enjoyment of what momma called the varied panorama around us; while, outside, the cabman passed in critical review half the gentleman’s outfitters in London.  It was momma who finally brought him to a halt, and the establishment which inspired her with confidence and emulation was inscribed in neat, white enamelled letters, Court Tailors.

As we entered, a person of serious appearance came forward from the rear, by no means eagerly or inquiringly, but with a grave step and a great deal of deportment.  I fancy he looked at momma and me with slight surprise; then, with his hands calmly folded and his head a little on one side, he gave his attention to the Senator.  But it was momma who broke the silence.

“We wish,” said momma, “to look at gentlemen’s suitings.”

“Yes, madam, certainly.  Is it for—­for——­” He hesitated in the embarrassed way only affected in the very best class of establishments, and I felt at ease at once as to the probable result.

“For this gentleman,” said momma, with a wave of her hand.

The Senator, being indicated, acknowledged it.  “Yes,” he said, “I’m your subject.  But there’s just one thing I want to say.  I haven’t got any use for a Court suit, because where I live we haven’t got any use for Courts.  My idea would be something aristocratic in quality but democratic in cut—­the sort of thing you would make up for a member of Mr. Gladstone’s family.  Do I make myself clear?”

“Certainly, sir.  Ordinary morning dress, sir, or is it evening dress, or both?  Will you kindly step this way, sir?”

“We will all step this way,” said momma.

“It would be a morning coat and waistcoat then, sir, would it not?  And trousers of a different—­somewhat lighter——­”

“Well, no,” the Senator replied.  “Something I could wear around pretty much all day.”

My calm regard forbade the gentleman’s outfitter to smile, even in the back of his head.

“I think I understand, sir.  Now, here is something that is being a good deal worn just now.  Beautiful finish.”

“Nothing brownish, thank you,” said momma, with decision.

“No, madam?  Then perhaps you would prefer this, sir.  More on the iron gray, sir.”

“That would certainly be more becoming,” said momma.  “And I like that invisible line.  But it’s rather too woolly.  I’m afraid it wouldn’t keep its appearance.  What do you think, Mamie?”

“Oh, there’s no woolliness, madam.”  The gentleman’s outfitter’s tone implied that wool was the last thing he would care to have anything to do with.  “It’s the nap.  And as to the appearance of these goods”—­he smiled slightly—­“well, we put our reputation on them, that’s all.  I can’t say more than that.  But I have the same thing in a smooth finish, if you would prefer it.”