Of one thing, however, Jaune was convinced:  that unless something of a positive nature was done, and done speedily, for the improvement of his outward man, his chance of success was gone forever.  Already, Madame Carthame eyed his seedy garments askance; already, for Rose had admitted the truth of his suspicions in this dismal direction, Madame Carthame had instituted most unfavorable comparisons between his own chronic shabbiness and the no less chronic splendor of the Count Siccatif de Courtray.  Therefore, it came to pass—­out of his abstract need for presentable habiliments, out of his desire to appear in creditable form at Vandyke Brown’s wedding, and, more than all else, out of his love for Rose—­that Jaune d’Antimoine registered a mighty oath before high heaven that within a month’s time a new suit of clothes should be his!

Yet the chances are that he would have gone down Christopher Street to the North River, and still further down, even into a watery grave—­as he very frequently thought of doing during this melancholy period of his existence—­had not his fortunes suddenly been irradiated by the birth in his mind of a happy thought.  It came to him in this wise:  He was standing drearily in front of a ready-made clothing store on Broadway, sadly contemplating a wooden figure clad in precisely the morning suit for which his soul panted, when suddenly something gave him a whack in the back.  Turning sharply, and making use of an exclamation not to be found in the French dictionaries compiled for the use of young ladies’ boarding-schools, he perceived a wooden framework, from the lower end of which protruded the legs of a man.  From a cleft in the upper portion of the framework came the apologetic utterance, “Didn’t mean ter hit yer, boss,” and then the structure moved slowly away through the throng.  Over its four sides, he observed, were blazoned announcements of the excellences of the garments manufactured by the very clothing establishment in front of which he stood.

The thought came idly into his mind that this method of advertising was clumsy, and not especially effective; followed by the further thought that a much better plan would be to set agoing upon the streets a really gentlemanly-looking man, clad in the best garments that the tailoring people manufactured—­while a handsome sign upon the man’s back, or a silken banner proudly borne aloft, should tell where the clothes were made, and how, for two weeks only, clothes equally excellent could be bought there at a tremendous sacrifice.  And then came into his mind the great thought of his life:  he would disguise himself by changing his blond hair and beard to gray, and by wearing dark eye-glasses, and thus disguised he would be that man!  Detection he believed to be impossible, for merely dressing himself in respectable clothes almost would suffice to prevent his recognition by even the nearest of his friends.  With that prompt decision which is the sure sign of genius backed by force of character, he paused no longer to consider.  He acted.  With a firm step he entered the clothing establishment; with dignity demanded a personal interview with its proprietor; with eloquence presented to that personage his scheme.