"
"No! Does it? I'd think you'd die of it. Well, when you do get East look
me up, will you? I mean it; I'd like to see you."
"All right."
"And if there's anything I can do for you any time, drop me a line."
The sumptuous ripple and gleam of the young man's faultless coat,
registered upon Banneker's subconscious memory as it had fallen at his
feet, recalled itself to him.
"What store do you buy your clothes at?"
"Store?" Cressey did not smile. "I don't buy 'em at a store. I have 'em
made by a tailor. Mertoun, 505 Fifth Avenue."
"Would he make me a suit?"
"Why, yes. I'll give you a card to him and you go in there when you're
in New York and pick out what you want."
"Oh! He wouldn't make them and send them out here to me? Sears-Roebuck
do, if you send your measure. They're in Chicago."
"I never had any duds built in Chicago, so I don't know them. But I
shouldn't think Mertoun would want to fit a man he'd never seen. They
like to do things _right_, at Mertoun's. Ought to, too; they stick you
enough for it."
"How much?"
"Not much short of a hundred for a sack suit."
Banneker was amazed. The choicest "made-to-measure" in his Universal
Guide, "Snappy, fashionable, and up to the minute," came to less than
half of that.
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