His mother had sent him there, to note the dress and public deportment of gentlemen and ladies, and use his own judgment.
He found his attention terribly distracted by the music and the raptures it caused him; but still he made some observations; and, consequently, next day he bought some fashionable shirts and sleeve studs and ribbon ties; ordered a morning suit of the same tailor, to be sent to him at Hillsborough; and after canvassing for customers all day, telegraphed his mother, and reached Hillsborough at eleven P.M.
At first sight of him Mrs.Little exclaimed: "Oh! What have you done with your beautiful hair ?" He laughed, and said this was the fashion.
"But it is like a private soldier." "Exactly.

Part of the Volunteer movement, perhaps." "Are you sure it is the fashion, dear ?" "Quite sure.

All the swells in the opera were bullet-headed just like this." "Oh, if it is the fashion!" said Mrs.Little; and her mind succumbed under that potent word.
She asked him about the dresses of the ladies in the opera.
His description was very lame.

He said he didn't know he was expected to make notes of them.
"Well, but you might be sure I should like to know.

Were there no ladies dressed as you would like to see your mother dressed ?" "Good heavens, no! I couldn't fancy you in a lot of colors; and your beautiful head deformed into the shape of a gourd, with a beast of a chignon stuck out behind, made of dead hair." "No matter.