Fine Feathers Page 2

them tothe end of the road.

  "I knew what it 'ud be," said Mr. Jobson, wiping his hot face. "Billwill never let me 'ear the end of this."

  "Nonsense!" said his wife, bridling. "Do you mean to tell me you've gotto ask Bill Foley 'ow you're to dress? He'll soon get tired of it; and,besides, it's just as well to let him see who you are. There's not manytradesmen as would lower themselves by mixing with a plasterer."

  Mr. Jobson scratched his ear, but wisely refrained from speech. Onceclear of his own district mental agitation subsided, but bodilydiscomfort increased at every step. The hat and the collar bothered himmost, but every article of attire contributed its share. His uneasinesswas so manifest that Mrs. Jobson, after a little womanly sympathy,suggested that, besides Sundays, it might be as well to wear themoccasionally of an evening in order to get used to them.

  "What, 'ave I got to wear them every Sunday?" demanded the unfortunate,blankly; "why, I thought they was only for Bank Holidays."

  Mrs. Jobson told him not to be silly.

  "Straight, I did," said her husband, earnestly. "You've no idea 'ow I'msuffering; I've got a headache, I'm arf choked, and there's a feelingabout my waist as though I'm being cuddled by somebody I don't like."

  Mrs. Jobson said it would soon wear off and, seated in the train thatbore them to the Crystal Palace, put the hat on the rack. Her husband'sattempt to leave it in the train was easily frustrated and hisexplanation that he had forgotten all about it received in silence. Itwas evident that he would require watching, and under the clear gaze ofhis children he seldom had a button undone for more than three minutes ata time.

  The day was hot and he perspired profusely. His collar lost its starch--a thing to be grateful for--and for the greater part of the day he worehis tie under the left ear. By the time they had arrived home again hewas in a state of open mutiny.

  "Never again," he said, loudly, as he tore the collar off and hung hiscoat on a chair.

  There was a chorus of lamentation; but he remained firm. Dorothy beganto sniff ominously, and Gladys spoke longingly of the fathers possessedby other girls. It was not until Mrs. Jobson sat eyeing her supper,instead of eating it, that he began to temporize. He gave way bit bybit, garment by garment. When he gave way at last on the great hatquestion, his wife took up her knife and fork.

  His workaday clothes appeared in his bedroom next morning, but the othersstill remained in the clutches of Aunt Emma. The suit provided was ofconsiderable antiquity, and at closing time, Mr. Jobson, after somehesitation, donned his new clothes and with a sheepish glance at his wifewent out; Mrs. Jobson nodded delight at her daughters.

  "He's coming round," she whispered. "He liked that ticket-collectorcalling him 'sir' yesterday. I noticed it. He's put on everything butthe topper. Don't say nothing about it; take it as a matter of course."

  It became evident as the days wore on that she was right... Bit by bitshe obtained the other clothes--with some difficulty--from Aunt Emma, buther husband still wore his best on Sundays and sometimes of an evening;and twice, on going into the bedroom suddenly, she had caught himsurveying himself at different angles in the glass.

  And, moreover, he had spoken with some heat--for such a good-temperedman--on the shortcomings of Dorothy's laundry work.

  "We'd better put your collars out," said his wife.

  "And the shirts," said Mr. Jobson. "Nothing looks worse than a badgot-up cuff."

  "You're getting quite dressy," said his wife, with a laugh.

  Mr. Jobson eyed her seriously.

  "No, mother, no," he replied. "All I've done is to find out that you'reright, as you always 'ave been. A man in my persition has got no rightto dress as if he kept a stall on the kerb. It ain't fair to the gals,or to young Bert. I don't want 'em to be ashamed of their father."

  "They wouldn't be that," said Mrs. Jobson.

  "I'm trying to improve," said her husband. "O' course, it's no usedressing up and behaving wrong, and yesterday I bought a book what tellsyou all about behaviour."

  "Well done!" said the delighted Mrs. Jobson.

  Mr. Jobson was glad to find that her opinion on his purchase was sharedby the rest of the family. Encouraged by their approval, he told them ofthe benefit he was deriving from it; and at tea-time that day, after alittle hesitation, ventured to affirm that it was a book that might dothem all good.

  "Hear, hear!" said Gladys.

  "For one thing," said Mr. Jobson, slowly, "I didn't know before that itwas wrong to blow your tea; and as for drinking it out of a saucer, thebook says it's a thing that is only done by the lower orders."

  "If you're in a hurry?" demanded Mr. Bert Jobson, pausing with hissaucer half way to his mouth.

  "If you're in anything," responded his father. "A gentleman would rathergo without his tea than drink it out of a saucer. That's the sort o'thing Bill Foley would do."

  Mr. Bert Jobson drained his saucer thoughtfully.

  "Picking your teeth with your finger is wrong, too," said Mr. Jobson,taking a breath. "Food should be removed in a--a--un-undemonstrativefashion with the tip of the tongue."

  "I wasn't," said Gladys.

  "A knife," pursued her father--"a knife should never in any circumstancesbe allowed near the mouth."

  "You've made mother cut herself," said Gladys, sharply; "that's whatyou've done."

  "I thought it was my fork," said Mrs. Jobson. "I was so busy listening Iwasn't thinking what I was doing. Silly of me."

  "We shall all do better in time," said Mr. Jobson. "But what I want toknow is, what about the gravy? You can't eat it with a fork, and itdon't say nothing about a spoon. Oh, and what about our cold tubs,mother?"

  "Cold tubs?" repeated his wife, staring at him. "What cold tubs?"

  "The cold tubs me and Bert ought to 'ave," said Mr. Jobson. "It says inthe book that an Englishman would just as soon think of going without hisbreakfus' as his cold tub; and you know how fond I am of my breakfus'."

  "And what about me and the gals?" said the amazed Mrs. Jobson.

  "Don't you worry about me, ma," said Gladys, hastily.

  "The book don't say nothing about gals; it says Englishmen," said Mr.Jobson.

  "But we ain't got a bathroom," said his son.

  "It don't signify," said Mr. Jobson. "A washtub'll do. Me and Bert'll'ave a washtub each brought up overnight; and it'll be exercise for thegals bringing the water up of a morning to us."

  "Well, I don't know, I'm sure," said the bewildered Mrs. Jobson."Anyway, you and Bert'll 'ave to carry the tubs up and down. Messy, Icall it.

  "It's got to be done, mother," said Mr. Jobson cheerfully. "It's onlythe lower orders what don't 'ave their cold tub reg'lar. The book saysso."

  He trundled the tub upstairs the same night and, after his wife had gonedownstairs next morning, opened the door and took in the can and pailthat stood outside. He poured the contents into the tub, and, aftereyeing it thoughtfully for some time, agitated the surface with his rightfoot. He dipped and dried that much enduring member some ten times, andafter regarding the damp condition of the towels with great satisfaction,dressed himself and went downstairs.

  "I'm all of a glow," he said, seating himself at the table. "I believe Icould eat a elephant. I feel as fresh as a daisy; don't you, Bert?"

  Mr. Jobson, junior, who had just come in from the shop, remarked,shortly, that he felt more like a blooming snowdrop.

  "And somebody slopped a lot of water over the stairs carrying it up,"said Mrs. Jobson. "I don't believe as everybody has cold baths of amorning. It don't seem wholesome to me."

  Mr. Jobson took a book from his pocket, and opening it at a certain page,handed it over to her.

  "If I'm going to do the thing at all I must do it properly," he said,gravely. "I don't suppose Bill Foley ever 'ad a cold tub in his life; hedon't know no better. Gladys!"

  "Halloa!" said that young lady, with a start.

  "Are you--are you eating that kipper with your fingers?"
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  Gladys turned and eyed her mother appealingly.

  "Page-page one hundred and something, I think it is," said her father,with his mouth full. "'Manners at the Dinner Table.' It's near the endof the book, I know."

  "If I never do no worse than that I