For I am going out, and it will never be so new again."
His Aunt spoke feebly.
"Nurse, I must see his coat. Let him come in."
Enter Jack.
It was his first manly suit, and he was trying hard for a manly soul
beneath it, as a brave boy should. He came in very gently, but with
conscious pride glowing in his rosy cheeks and out of his shining eyes.
His cheeks were very red, for a step in life is a warming thing, and so
is a cloth suit when you've been used to frocks.
It was a bottle-green coat, with large mother-o'-pearl buttons and three
coachman's capes; and there were leggings to match. The beaver hat, too,
was new, and becomingly cocked, as he stood by his Aunt's bedside and
smiled.
"What a fine coat, Jack!"
"Made by a tailor, Auntie Julie. Real pockets!"
"You don't say so!"
He nodded.
"Leggings too!" and he stuck up one leg at a sudden right angle on to
the bed; a rash proceeding, but the boy has a straight little figure,
and with a hop or two he kept his balance.
"My dear Jack, they are grand. How warm they must keep your legs!"
He shook his beaver hat.
"No. They only tickles. That's what they do."
There was a pause. His Aunt remembered the old peevish ways.
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