“Sir,” said he, “have I the pleasure of addressing the renowned Solario, whose genius has caused our city to be envied wherever art is prized?” I confessed that I was the person. “My master,” he went on, “is a nobleman, to whose ears the rumor of your skill and taste has penetrated, although he lives in retirement and hears not much of the outer world. I trust that you are at liberty to undertake a piece of work for him?” I assured him that I was. “My master,” he proceeded, “is, I must warn you, unable to satisfy himself, in the matter now in hand, with less than absolute perfection. Already he has been disappointed in some eight other tailors, and he has learned of your superlative excellence with much hope; and in order that he may assure himself how well his report of you is justified, he has commanded me to entrust to you a small commission; to wit, to sew on this button.” I was greatly mortified at this lame conclusion of so promising a speech; I suspected that the stranger was making game of me; but his manner was so respectful that I held my peace, and watched him without a word while he took from under his short blue velvet cloak a package, and depositing it before me on my table proceeded to undo it. _“This old fellow talks like he was writing a composition,” whispered Bodkin to Bojohn._ _“Oh, he’s a conceited pumpkin,” whispered Bojohn. “He loves to hear himself talk, and I bet you he’s thinking we’re thinking we never heard such fine language in our lives. That’s him, all over.”_ _The Doublet with the Missing Button_ The package contained a doublet, of a material I had never seen before, very thin and glossy, of a texture like that of wasp’s nest but very tough. The doublet contained ten buttonholes, but only nine buttons; one button, and one only, was missing. “I have here,” said my visitor coolly, “the missing button; and my master will be obliged if you will sew it on.” [Illustration: Solario was sitting on his worktable busily plying the needle] He produced the button, a large ivory one, which, with the garment, he held up before me in his left hand. “Please to hold out your left hand,” said he. I did so, and with his own left hand he placed the garment and the button in mine. “This doublet,” said he, “must not pass from one to another but by the left hand. Please to remember that. And now, adieu. I will return to-morrow. Meantime--” He laid on my table a small purse, and bowing with sober courtesy he left the shop. I turned up the purse, and a number of gold coins fell out, enough to pay for sewing on five hundred buttons. “Ah!” thought I. “At this rate I can well afford to gratify my new client’s whimsies.”