I don't see that wearing a whole shirt decently done up is
going to compromise any principles. Surely you can do that and
still be as common as you like. The people look up to the fellow
that's just a little better dressed than they."
Josh eyed Arkwright in the way that always made him wonder whether
he was in full possession of the secret of this strenuous young
Westerner. "But," said he, "they love and trust the man who will
have nothing which all may not have. The shirt will do for this
evening." And he turned back into the bedroom.
Arkwright reflected somewhat uncomfortably. He felt that he
himself was right; yet he could not deny that "Josh's cheap
demagoguery" sounded fine and true. He soon forgot the argument in
the study of his surroundings. "You're living like a wild beast
here, Josh," he presently called out. "You must get a valet."
A loud laugh was the reply.
"Or a wife," continued Arkwright. Then, in the voice of one
announcing an inspiration, "Yes--that's it! A wife!"
Craig reappeared. He had on his waistcoat and coat now, and his
hair was brushed. Arkwright could not but admit that the
personality took the edge off the clothes; even the "mottled
mica"--the rent was completely hid--seemed to have lost the worst
of its glaze and stiffness.
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