considerable antiquity, and at closing time, Mr. Jobson, after some
hesitation, donned his new clothes and with a sheepish glance at his wife
went out; Mrs. Jobson nodded delight at her daughters.

"He's coming round," she whispered. "He liked that ticket-collector
calling him 'sir' yesterday. I noticed it. He's put on everything but
the topper. Don't say nothing about it; take it as a matter of course."

It became evident as the days wore on that she was right... Bit by bit
she obtained the other clothes--with some difficulty--from Aunt Emma, but
her husband still wore his best on Sundays and sometimes of an evening;
and twice, on going into the bedroom suddenly, she had caught him
surveying himself at different angles in the glass.

And, moreover, he had spoken with some heat--for such a good-tempered
man--on the shortcomings of Dorothy's laundry work.

"We'd better put your collars out," said his wife.

"And the shirts," said Mr. Jobson. "Nothing looks worse than a bad
got-up cuff."

"You're getting quite dressy," said his wife, with a laugh.

Mr. Jobson eyed her seriously.

"No, mother, no," he replied. "All I've done is to find out that you're
right, as you always 'ave been. A man in my persition has got no right
to dress as if he kept a stall on the kerb. It ain't fair to the gals,
or to young Bert. I don't want 'em to be ashamed of their father."