“Well, the fact is, I happened to catch sight of my next-door neighbours, and it struck me that they would be pleasant people to live near.” Mr. Cornelius nodded. “Mr. Wrenn is greatly respected by all who know him.” “I liked his razor,” said Sam. “If you are going to Tilbury House it is possible that you may meet him. He is the editor of Pyke’s _Home Companion_.” “Is that so?” said Sam. “Pyke’s _Home Companion_, eh?” “I take it in regularly.” “And Mr. Wrenn’s niece? A charming girl, I thought.” “I scarcely know her,” said Mr. Cornelius indifferently. “Young women do not interest me.” The proverb about casting pearls before swine occurred to Sam. “I must be going,” he said coldly. “Speed up that lease, will you. And if anyone else blows in and wants to take the house, bat them over the head with the office ruler.” “Mr. Wrenn and I frequently play a game of chess together,” said Mr. Cornelius. Sam was not interested in his senile diversions. “Good morning,” he said stiffly, and passed out into Ogilvy Street. CHAPTER TWELVE SAM IS MUCH TOO SUDDEN § 1 The clocks of London were striking twelve when Sam, entering the Strand, turned to the left and made his way toward Fleet Street to keep his tryst with Lord Tilbury at the offices of the Mammoth Publishing Company. In the interval which had elapsed since his parting from Mr. Cornelius a striking change had taken place in his appearance, for he had paid a visit to that fascinating shop near Covent Garden which displays on its door the legend, “Cohen Bros., Ready-Made Clothiers,” and is the Mecca of all who prefer to pluck their garments ripe off the bough instead of waiting for them to grow. The kindly brethren had fitted him out with a tweed suit of bold pattern, a shirt of quality, underclothing, socks, a collar, sock suspenders, a handkerchief, a tie pin and a hat with the same swift and unemotional efficiency with which, had he desired it, they would have provided the full costume of an Arctic explorer, a duke about to visit Buckingham Palace, or a big-game hunter bound for Eastern Africa. Nor had they failed him in the matter of new shoes and a wanghee. It was, in short, an edition de luxe of S. Pynsent Shotter, richly bound and profusely illustrated, that now presented itself to the notice of the public. The tonic of new clothes is recognised by all students of human nature. Sam walked with a springy jauntiness, and his gay bearing, combined with the brightness of his exterior, drew many eyes upon him.