The Club of Queer Trades
tance we have to go, we shall be late for dinner."
Basil's eyes were shining in the twilight like lamps.
"I thought," he said, "that I had outlived vanity."
"What do you want now?" I cried.
"I want," he cried out, "what a girl wants when she wears her new frock; I want what a boy wants when he goes in for a slanging match with a monitor—I want to show somebody what a fine fellow I am. I am as right about that man as I am about your having a hat on your head. You say it cannot be tested. I say it can. I will take you to see my old friend Beaumont. He is a delightful man to know."
"Do you really mean—?" I began.
"I will apologize," he said, calmly, "for our not being dressed for a call," and, walking across the vast, misty square, he walked up the dark stone steps and rang at the bell.
A severe servant in black and white opened the door to us; on receiving my friend's name his manner passed in a flash from as-
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