They'll have to be ready-made--and
very good ready-made ones a man can buy nowadays. We'll go to the
tailor's first thing--about seven o'clock in the morning, which'll
give him plenty of time for alterations."
"I won't!" exploded Grant, stopping his restless pacing and
slamming himself on to a chair.
"Oh, yes, you will," asserted Craig, with absolute confidence.
"You're not going back on me."
"There's nothing in this--nothing! I've known Rita Severence
nearly twenty years, and I know she's done with you."
Craig sprang to his feet, went over and laid his heavy hand
heavily upon Arkwright's shoulder. "And," said he, "you know me.
Did I ever say a thing that didn't prove to be true, no matter how
improbable it seemed to you?"
Arkwright was silent.
"Grant," Craig went on, and his voice was gentle and moving, "I
need you. I must have you. You won't fail me, will you, old pal?"
"Oh, hell!--I'll go," said Grant in a much-softened growl. "But I
know it's a wild-goose chase. Still, you do need the clothes.
You're a perfect disgrace."
Craig took away his hand and burst into his noisy, boyish
laughter, so reminiscent of things rural and boorish, of the
coarse, strong spirits of the happy-go-lucky, irresponsibles that
work as field hands and wood-haulers.
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