Breeks took his measures in silence. He knew that Jericho was become rich, and therefore felt that he, the rich man’s tailor, must become dull and respectful. Ready money was, after all, better than a ready laugh. “Shall I allow anything, sir, for”—and Breeks held the body of Jericho as in a parchment bridle—“anything for stoutness? It may come, sir, when you least expect it?” “A little, just a little, Breeks. Though I don’t think I’m a bit thinner than—than many people?” “Not a bit, sir: and then, sir, where natur’ leaves us, we can always lay hold upon art. Flesh”—said Breeks, waving his arm—“flesh may fall away, but paddin’s contin’ally with us.” “Just so! and therefore, Breeks, you may give a little puff—just the smallest roundness”— “I know, sir; just an ounce or two more flesh in the waistcoast. It shall be done, sir. I wish you a humble good morning, sir,” and Breeks bowed in excess of homage. “Breeks,”—a thought had come upon Jericho,—“Breeks, are you married?” Breeks stared: for how many times, years gone by, had Mrs. Breeks herself opened the door to Mr. Jericho! Breeks delicately resented this forgetfulness of the man of money. With a low bow, the tailor replied—“I am not yet a widower, Mr. Jericho.” “Ha! To be sure. Humph”—mused Jericho—“then it’s out of the question; otherwise, Breeks, I might have served you.” “Mrs. Breeks, Mr. Jericho,”—replied the tailor,—“is too[Pg 76] dootiful a wife to stand in the light of her husband. Whatever it is, may I be so bold as to say, mention it?” [Pg 76] “Not now—no matter—another time. Go,” said Jericho; and the tailor, with an awe of the sudden dignity of money—an awe he would not confess to—shrank from the dressing-room. “Here’s a change! After all, there’s no such paddin’ for human natur’ as Bank-notes!” Now this is what Breeks declared to himself outside the door; and again and again repeated as he stept onward from Jericho’s house. Indeed, so intent was he upon the felicitous thought that—with a strange self-delusion—he avowed to his wife, delighted by her husband’s wit and courage, that he flung the words—hard and hot like a thunderbolt—“in Jericho’s face.” And the elevated tailor almost thought as much. Nevertheless, for Jericho’s face, truth meekly
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