"Why, what is it, Ramsey? Have you--" He paused, frowning and wondering.
"You haven't been getting into some mess you want to tell me about, have
you?"

"No, sir."

His tone was meek, but a mute distress lurked within it, bringing to the
father's mind disturbing suspicions, and foreshadowings of indignation
and of pity. "See here, Ramsey," he said, "if there's anything you want
to ask me, or to tell me, you'd better out with it and get it over. Now,
what is it?"

"Well--it isn't anything."

"Are you _sure?_"

Ramsey's eyes fell before the severe and piercing gaze of his father.
"Yes, sir."

Mr. Milholland shook his head doubtfully; then, as his son walked slowly
out of the room, he turned to complete his toilet in a somewhat uneasy
frame of mind. Ramsey had undoubtedly wanted to say something to him and
the boy's expression had shown that the matter in question was serious,
distressing, and, it might be, even critical.

In fact it was--to Ramsey. Having begun within only the last few hours
to regard haberdashery as of vital importance, and believing his father
to be possessed of the experience and authority lacking in himself,
Ramsey had come to get him to settle a question which had been upsetting
him badly, in his own room, since breakfast. What he want to know was: