I don’t think of you as a kid. CHAPTER IX. Capes? Well, think what it must be to live in them—soul and mind and body! It’s fun for a man to jest at our position. There was once a philanthropist who dressed with shameful shabbiness and carried pearls in his pocket. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. He had scarcely entered the arch, when the indraught was so violent, and the noise of the wind so dreadful and astounding, that he almost determined to relinquish the undertaking.
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