"
"That settles the question, Harry," said Oscar, joyfully. "So all
you've got to do is to pack up and be ready to start to-morrow
morning. It's Tuesday, you know, already."
Harry hesitated, and Oscar observed it.
"Well, what's the matter now?" he said; "out with it."
"I'll tell you, Oscar," said Harry, coloring a little. "Your father
is a rich man, and lives handsomely. I haven't any clothes good
enough to wear on a visit to your house."
"Oh, hang your clothes!" said Oscar, impetuously. "It isn't your
clothes we invite. It's yourself."
"Still, Oscar--"
"Come, I see you think I am like Fitz Fletcher, after all. Say you
think me a snob, and done with it."
"But I don't," said Harry, smiling.
"Then don't make any more ridiculous objections. Don't you think
they are ridiculous, Mr. Ferguson?"
"They wouldn't be in some places," said Ferguson, "but here I think
they are out of place. I feel sure you are right, and that you value
Harry more than the clothes he wears."
"Well, Harry, do you surrender at discretion?" said Oscar. "You see
Ferguson is on my side."
"I suppose I shall have to," said Harry, "as long as you are not
ashamed of me."
"None of that, Harry."
"I'll go."
"The first sensible words you've spoken this morning."
"I want to tell you how much I appreciate your kindness, Oscar," said
Harry, earnestly.
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