He ventured apologetically into the lift. In his private corridor a young man respectfully waited, hat in hand, the paternal red-and-black waistcoat by his side for purposes of introduction. The young man was wearing a rather shabby blue suit, but a rich and distinguished overcoat that fitted him ill. In another five minutes Edward Henry had engaged a skilled valet, aged twenty-four, name Joseph, with a testimonial of efficiency from Sir Nicholas Winkworth, Bart., at a salary of a pound a week and all found. Joseph seemed to await instructions. And Edward Henry was placed in a new quandary. He knew not whether the small bedroom in the suite was for a child, or for his wife’s maid, or for his valet. Quite probably it would be a sacrilegious defiance of precedent to put a valet in the small bedroom. Quite probably Wilkins’s had a floor for private valets in the roof. Again, quite probably, the small bedroom might be after all specially destined for valets! He could not decide, and the most precious thing in the universe to him in that crisis was his reputation as a man about town in the eyes of Joseph. But something had to be done. "You’ll sleep in this room," said Edward Henry, indicating the door. "I may want you in the night." "Yes, sir," said Joseph. "I presume you’ll dine up here, sir," said Joseph, glancing at the lounge suit. His father had informed him of his new master’s predicament. "I shall," said Edward Henry. "You might get the menu." IV. He had a very bad night indeed, owing no doubt partly to a general uneasiness in his unusual surroundings, and partly also to a special uneasiness caused by the propinquity of a sleeping valet; but the main origin of it was certainly his dreadful anxiety about the question of a first-class tailor. In the organisation of his new life a first-class tailor was essential, and he was not acquainted with a first-class London tailor. He did not know a great deal concerning clothes, though quite passably well dressed for a provincial, but he knew enough to be sure that it was impossible to judge the merits of a tailor by his sign-board, and therefore that if, wandering in the precincts of Bond Street, he entered the first establishment that "looked likely," he would have a good chance of being "done in the eye." So he phrased it to himself as he lay in bed. He wanted a definite and utterly reliable address. He rang the bell. Only, as it happened to be the wrong bell, he obtained the presence of Joseph in a round-about way, through the agency of a gentleman in waiting. Such, however, is the human faculty of adaptation to environment that he was merely amused in the morning by an error which, on the previous night, would have put him into a sweat. "Good morning, sir," said Joseph.