The barbarian was not clad in the skins of wild beasts, which would have set him off superbly, but was trying to get himself arrayed for a fashionable ball.

He had on evening trousers, pumps, black cotton socks with just enough silk woven in to give them the shabby, shamed air of having been caught in a snobbish pretense at being silk.

He was buttoning a shirt torn straight down the left side of the bosom from collar-band to end of tail; and the bosom had the stiff, glassy glaze that advertises the cheap laundry.
"Didn't you write me I must get an apartment in this house ?" demanded he.
"Not in the attic," rejoined Arkwright.
"I can't afford anything better." "You can't afford anything so bad." "Bad!" Craig looked round as pleased as a Hottentot with a string of colored glass beads.

"Why, I've got a private sitting-room AND a private bath! I never was so well-off before in my life.

I tell you, Grant, I'm not surprised any more that you Easterners get effete and worthless.