"But"-- he sighed and looked around the noisy glittering place, at the smart barmaids, the well-clad throng of loungers, some in evening dress, the half-dozen gorgeous ladies sitting with men at little tables by the window--"I thinks as how you gets more real happiness in a quiet village pub, and the beer is cheaper, and--gorblimey!" He ran his finger between his stringy neck and the frayed stand-up collar that would have sawn his head off but for the toughness of his hide.

To do Paul honour he had arrayed himself in his best--a wondrously cut and heavily-braided morning coat and lavender-coloured trousers of eccentric shape, and a funny little billycock hat too small for him, and a thunder-and-lightning necktie, all of which he had purchased nearly twenty years ago to grace a certain wedding at which he had been best man.

Since then he had worn the Nessus shirt of a costume not more than half-a-dozen times.

The twisted, bright-eyed little man, so obviously ill at ease in his amazing garb, and the beautiful youth, debonair in his well-fitting blue serge, formed a queer contrast.
"Don't you never long for the wind of God and the smell of the rain ?" asked Barney Bill.
"I haven't the time," said Paul.

"I'm busy all day long." "Well, well," said Barney Bill, "the fellow wasn't far wrong who said it takes all sorts to make a world.