And a dinner-jacket suit. Two business
suits, a light and a dark. You won't need a morning coat, I expect, for
a while. Anyway, we've got to save somethin' out for shirts and boots,
haven't we?"
"I haven't the money with me" remarked Banneker, his innocent mind on
the cash-with-order policy of Sears-Roebuck.
"Now, see here," said Cressey, good-humoredly, yet with an effect of
authority. "This is a game that's got to be played according to the
rules. Why, if you put down spot cash before Mertoun's eyes he'd faint
from surprise, and when he came to, he'd have no respect for you. And a
tailor's respect for you," continued Cressey, the sage, "shows in your
togs."
"When do I pay, then?"
"Oh, in three or four months he sends around a bill. That's more of a
reminder to come in and order your fall outfit than it is anything else.
But you can send him a check on account, if you feel like it."
"A check?" repeated the neophyte blankly. "Must I have a bank account?"
"Safer than a sock, my boy. And just as simple. To-morrow will do for
that, when we call on the shirt-makers and the shoe sharps. I'll put you
in my bank; they'll take you on for five hundred."
Arrived at Mertoun's, Banneker unobtrusively but positively developed a
taste of his own in the matter of hue and pattern; one, too, which
commanded Cressey's respect.
Pages:
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250