“It was the custom, when he was to go out, for some competent person to arrange his best cloth suit on a sofa in his study, his linen and stockings being in a wardrobe in the same room. On this day he was very much engaged in writing. However, thinking that he would be quite prepared when apprised that John and the horses were ready, he laid down his pen at an early hour, and dressed himself, laying his old black suit, neatly folded, as was his wont, on the sofa, from whence he had taken the best one; this being done, to make the best of his time, he sat down to write again, till admonished that the horses were waiting. ‘Bless me!’ he cried, ‘and I not dressed!’ and he hurried himself to put on again fresh linen and another pair of silk stockings, whilst, as his old coat and waistcoat, which lay where the new ones ought to have been, came most naturally to hand, they were put on, and a great coat over all concealed the mischief from John and my mother; and away he drove, reaching Enville but a little time before dinner. My father happened to know Lord Stamford’s butler, an old and valued servant; and as he stopped in the hall to take off his great coat, Mr. Johnson, having looked hard at his attire, said, ‘My dear Sir, you have a large hole in your elbow, and the white lining is visible.’ ‘Indeed!’ said my father; ‘how can that be?’—and, after some reflection, he made out the truth as it really had happened. ‘Well!’ said Mr. Johnson, not a little amazed with the story, ‘come to my room, and we will see what is to be done.’ So he took my father, who was in high glee at the joke, into his own precincts, and brushed him, and inked his elbow, and put him into better order than the case at first seemed possible (_sic_). When all was complete, he said, ‘Now, Sir, go into the drawing-room; set a good face on the matter; say not a word on the subject; and my life for it, not a lady or gentleman will find you out.’ My father promised to be vastly prudent; and as he was always equally at home in every company, on the principle of feeling that every man was his brother, he was not in the least disturbed by the consciousness of his old coat and inked elbow. Thus everything went on prosperously until dinner was nearly over. My dear father, having probably, as usual, found the means of putting everybody in good humour about him, he turned towards the butler, and said, ‘Johnson, it must not be lost!’ The good man frowned and shook his head, but all in vain. ‘It is much too good, Johnson,’ he added; ‘though you are ever so angry with me, I must tell it.’ And then out came the whole story, to the great delight of the whole noble party present, and to the lasting gratification of my father himself; for he never failed to be highly pleased whenever he told the story; and it was no small addition to the tale, to tell of the scolding he got, before he came away, from the honest butler, whose punctilio he had most barbarously wounded.”