“Hello, old chap, who's dead?” It was Harry's gay voice. “You look like a tomb.” He put his arm through Ranald's and walked with him up the street. “Where are you going now?” he asked, as Ranald walked along in silence. “To get some clothes.” “Thank the great powers!” ejaculated Harry to himself. “What?” “And where are you going to get them?” “I do not know--some store, I suppose.” Ranald had the vaguest notions not only of where he should go, but of the clothes in which he ought to array himself, but he was not going to acknowledge this to his friend. “You can't get any clothes fit to wear in this town,” said Harry, in high contempt. Ranald's heart sank. “But come along, we will find something.” As they passed in front of the little French shops, with windows filled inside and out with ready-made garments, Ranald paused to investigate. “Oh! pshaw,” cried Harry, “don't know what you'll get here. We'll find something better than this cheap stuff,” and Ranald, glad enough of guidance, though uncertain as to where it might lead him, followed meekly. “What sort of a suit do you want?” said Harry. “I don't know,” said Ranald, doubtfully. It had never occurred to him that there could be any great difference in suits. There had never been any choosing of suits with him. “Like yours, I suppose,” he continued, glancing at Harry's attire, but adding, cautiously, “if they do not cost too much.” “About forty dollars,” said Harry, lightly; then, noticing the dismayed look on Ranald's face, he added quickly, “but you don't need to spend that much, you know. I say, you let me manage this thing.” And fortunate it was for Ranald that he had his friend's assistance in this all-important business, but it took all Harry's judgment, skill, and delicacy of handling to pilot his friend through the devious ways of outfitters, for Ranald's ignorance of all that pertained to a gentleman's wardrobe was equaled only by the sensitive pride on the one hand that made him shrink from appearing poor and mean, and by his Scotch caution on the other that forbade undue extravagance. It was a hard hour and a half for them both, but when all was over, Ranald's gratitude more than repaid Harry for his pains. “Come up to-night,” said Harry, as they stood at the door of the Hotel du Nord, where Ranald had taken up his quarters. “No,” said Ranald, abruptly, unconsciously glancing down at his rough dress. “Then I'll come down here,” said Harry, noting the glance. “I will be very glad,” replied Ranald, his face lighting up, for he was more afraid than he cared to show of the lonely hours of that night. It would be the first night in his life away from his own kin and friends. But he was not so glad when, after tea, as he stood at the door of the hotel, he saw sauntering toward him not only Harry, but also Lieutenant De Lacy and his friend Mr. Sims. “These fellows would come along,” explained Harry; “I told them you didn't want them.”