Vicar; "it's the correct thing up there. Shape No. 3 seems best suited to his style. But it's dreadful to think of him all alone in that great city. Every one will misunderstand him, and he will misunderstand everybody. However, I suppose it must be. Where was I?)"
"1 Toothbrush. 1 Brush and Comb. Razor?
"½ doz. Shirts (? measure his neck), 6s ea.
"Socks? Pants?
"2 suits Pyjamas. Price? Say 15s.
"1 doz. Collars ('The Life Guardsman'), 8s.
"Braces. Oxon Patent Versatile, 1s 11½d. But how will he get them on?" said the Vicar.
"1 Rubber Stamp, T. Angel, and Marking Ink in box complete, 9d."
("Those washerwomen are certain to steal all his things.")
"1 Single-bladed Penknife with Corkscrew, say 1s 6d.
"N.B.—Don't forget Cuff Links, Collar Stud, &c." (The Vicar loved "&c.," it gave things such a precise and businesslike air.)
"1 Leather Portmanteau (had better see these)."
And so forth—meanderingly. It kept the Vicar busy until lunch time, though his heart ached.
The Angel did not return to lunch. This was not so very remarkable—once before he had missed the midday meal. Yet, considering how short was the time they would have together now, he might perhaps have come back. Doubtless he had excellent reasons, though, for his absence. The Vicar made an indifferent lunch. In the afternoon he rested in his
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