"No, no," protests Ferdy hasty. "I--I wouldn't go to the club looking like this. I--I couldn't stand the chaff I'd get from the fellows. I'll wait." "Suit yourself," says I, towin' him into Mr. Robert's private office. "You can shed the heather wrap in here, if you like." "I--I wish I could," says he. "Wha-a-at!" says I. "She ain't sewed you into it, has she? Anyhow, you don't have to keep it buttoned tight under your chin with all this steam heat on." "I know," says Ferdy, sighin'. "I nearly roasted, coming down in the train. But, you see, it--it hides the tie." "Eh?" says I. "Something else Marjorie picked out? Let's have a peek." Ferdy blushes painful. "It's awful," he groans, "perfectly awful!" "Not one of these nutty Futurist designs, like a scrambled rainbow shot full of pink polliwogs?" says I. "Worse than that," says Ferdy, unbuttonin' the overcoat reluctant. "Look!" "Zowie! A plush one!" says I. Course, they ain't so new. I'd seen 'em in the zippy haberdashers' windows early in the fall; but I don't remember havin' met one out of captivity before. And this is about the plushiest affair you could imagine; bright orange and black, and half an inch thick. "Whiffo!" says I. "That is something to have wished onto you! Looks like a caterpillar in a dream." "That's right," says Ferdy. "It's been a perfect nightmare to me ever since Marjorie bought it. But I can't hurt her feelings by refusing to wear it. And this silly hat too--a scarf instead of a band!" It's almost pathetic the way Ferdy holds the lid off at arm's length and gazes indignant at it. "Draped real sweet, ain't it?" says I. "But most of the smart chappies are wearin' 'em that way, you know." "Not this sickly green shade, though," says Ferdy plaintive. "I wish Marjorie wouldn't get such things for me. I--I've always been rather particular about my hats and ties. I like them quiet, you understand." "You would get married, though," says I. "But, say, can't you do a duck by changing after you leave home?" Seems the idea hadn't occurred to Ferdy. "But how? Where?" says he, brightenin' up. "In the limousine as you're drivin' down to the station," says I. "You could keep an extra outfit in the car." "By Jove!" says Ferdy. "Then I could change again on the way home, couldn't I? And if Marjorie didn't know, she wouldn't----" "You've surrounded the plot of the piece," says I. "Now go to it. There's a gents' furnisher down in the arcade." He's halfway out to the elevator before it occurs to him that he ain't responded with any grateful remarks; so back he comes to tell how much obliged he is. "And, Torchy," he adds, "you know you haven't been out to see baby yet. Why, you must see little Ferdinand!" "Ye-e-es, I been meanin' to," says I, maybe not wildly enthusiastic. "I expect he's quite a kid by this time."