The biggest one was the state of my appetite; next, and not more than a nose behind, was the state of my pockets; and the last was, had Rankin packed the gray tweed trousers that I had a liking for, or had he not?
I tried to remember whether I had spoken to him about them, and I sat down on the edge of the bed in that little box of a room, took my head between my fists, and called Rankin several names he sometimes deserved and had frequently heard from my lips.
I'd have given a good deal to have Rankin at my elbow just then.
They were not in the suit-case--or, if they were, I had not run across them.

Rankin had a way of stowing things away so that even he had to do some tall searching, and he had another way of filling up my suit-cases with truck I'd no immediate use for.

I yanked the case toward me, unlocked it, and turned it out on the bed, just to prove Rankin's general incapacity as valet to a fastidious fellow like me.
There was the suit I had worn on that memorable excursion to the Cliff House--I had told Rankin to pitch it into the street, for I had discovered Teddy Van Greve in one almost exactly like it, and--Hello! Rankin had certainly overlooked a bet.

I never caught him at it before, that's certain.

He had a way of coming to my left elbow, and, in a particularly virtuous tone, calling my attention to the fact that I had left several loose bills in my pockets.