“No what?”

“No’m,” said Adelia.  “He ’ain’t got no britches at all.”

A statement of this kind is startling under Almost any circumstances, and it is unusually so when made in reference to a person for whom a party is being given.  Therefore it was not unreasonable of Mrs. Baxter to lose her breath.

“But—­it can’t be!” she gasped.  “He has!  He has plenty!”

“No’m, he ‘ain’t,” Adelia assured her.  “An’ he’s carryin’ on so I don’t scarcely think he knows much what he’s doin’, Miz Baxter.  He brung down some gray britches to the kitchen to see if I couldn’ press an’ clean ‘em right quick:  they was the ones Miss Jane, when she’s paintin’ all them sunsets, lef’ her paint-box open, an’ one them sunsets got on these here gray britches, Miz Baxter; an’ hones’ly, Miz Baxter, he’s fixed ’em in a condishum, tryin’ to git that paint out, I don’t believe it ’ll be no use sendin’ ’em to the cleaner.  ’Clean ’em an’ press ’em quick?’ I says.  ‘I couldn’ clean ’em by Resurreckshum, let alone pressin’ ’em!’ No’m!  Well, he had his blue britches, too, but they’s so ripped an’ tore an’ kind o’ shredded away in one place, the cook she jes’ hollered when he spread ’em out, an’ he didn’ even ast me could I mend ’em.  An’ he had two pairs o’ them white flannen britches, but hones’ly, Miz Baxter, I don’t scarcely think Genesis would wear ’em, the way they is now!  ‘Well,’ I says, ‘ain’t but one thing lef’ to do I can see,’ I says.  ‘Why don’t you go put on that nice black suit you had las’ winter?’”

“Of course!” Mrs. Baxter cried.  “I’ll go and—­”

“No’m,” said Adelia.  “You don’ need to.  He’s up in the attic now, r’arin’ roun’ ‘mongs’ them trunks, but seem to me like I remember you put that suit away under the heavy blankets in that big cedar ches’ with the padlock.  If you jes’ tell me where is the key, I take it up to him.”

“Under the bureau in the spare room,” said Mrs. Baxter.  “Hurry!”

Adelia hurried; and, fifteen minutes later, William, for the last time that afternoon, surveyed himself in his mirror.  His face showed the strain that had been upon him and under which he still labored; the black suit was a map of creases, and William was perspiring more freely than ever under the heavy garments.  But at least he was clothed.

He emptied his pockets, disgorging upon the floor a multitude of small white spheres, like marbles.  Then, as he stepped out into the hall, he discovered that their odor still remained about him; so he stopped and carefully turned his pockets inside out, one after the other, but finding that he still smelled vehemently of the “moth-balls,” though not one remained upon him, he went to his mother’s room and sprinkled violet toilet-water upon his chest and shoulders.  He disliked such odors, but that left by the moth-balls was intolerable, and, laying hands upon a canister labeled “Hyacinth,” he contrived to pour a quantity of scented powder inside his collar, thence to be distributed by the force of gravity so far as his dampness permitted.