O blessed Conceit, what should we be
without you?'
With the new clothes came a new stock of self-confidence. Otis
Yeere discovered that he could enter a room without breaking into
a gentle perspiration could cross one, even to talk to Mrs.
Hauksbee, as though rooms were meant to be crossed. He was for
the first time in nine years proud of himself, and contented with
his life, satisfied with his new clothes, and rejoicing in the
friendship of Mrs. Hauksbee.
'Conceit is what the poor fellow wants,' she said in confidence to
Mrs. Mallowe. 'I believe they must use Civilians to plough the
fields with in Lower Bengal. You see I have to begin from the very
beginning haven't I? But you'll admit, won't you, dear, that he is
immensely improved since I took him in hand. Only give me a
little more time and he won't know himself.'
Indeed, Yeere was rapidly beginning to forget what he had been.
One of his own rank and file put the matter brutally when he asked
Yeere, in reference to nothing, 'And who has been making you a
Member of Council, lately? You carry the side of half-a-dozen of
'em.'
'I I'm awf'ly sorry. I didn't mean it, you know,' said Yeere
apologetically.
'There'll be no holding you,' continued the old stager grimly.
'Climb down, Otis climb down, and get all that beastly affectation
knocked out of you with fever! Three thousand a month wouldn't
support it.
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