Roberts: "I was trying to think where I'd put my dress-suit."
Campbell, triumphantly: "Exactly! And now do you expect me to believe you haven't been at that decanter? Where do you suppose you put it?"
Roberts: "Where I always do on a hook in my closet."
Campbell: "You hang up your dress-suit? Why, it must look like a butler's! You ought to fold your clothes and lay them in a bureau drawer. Don't you know that? Very likely Agnes has got onto that while you've been away, and put them in here." He looks towards the bureau, and Roberts tries to pull open one drawer after another.
Roberts: "This seems locked. I never lock my drawers."
Campbell: "Then that's proof positive that your dress-suit is in there. Agnes has put it in, and locked it up, so as to keep it nice and fresh for you. Where's your key?"
Roberts: "I don't know. I always leave it in the key-hole of one of the drawers. Haven't you got a key-ring, Willis?"
Campbell: "I've got a key-ring, but I haven't got it about me, as Artemus Ward said of his gift for public speaking. It's in my other trousers pockets. Haven't you got a collection of keys? Amy has a half-bushel, and she keeps them in a hand-bag in the bath-room closet. She says Agnes does."
Roberts: "So she does! I'll just look." While he is gone, Campbell lays down his hat and overcoat, and tries the bureau drawers. Roberts returns to find him at this work. "No; she must have put them somewhere else. I know she always used to put them there."
Campbell: "Well, then we've got to pick the locks. Have you got a boot-buttoner? There's nothing like a boot-buttoner to pick locks. Or, hold on a minute! We've got to go about this thing systematically. Now, I don't think you can tell in your condition whether your dress-coat's in your closet or not, Roberts. We must bring your clothes all out here and lay them on the bed, and see. That dress-suit may turn up yet. You probably thought it was something like an ulster. I know how a man's ideas get mixed, after a little too much freshening up."
Roberts, unmindful of his joke: "You're right, Willis. I may have overlooked it. I'll bring out everything." He disappears, and reappears with a business-suit of black diagonal, which he throws on the bed. "That isn't it."
Campbell, inspecting it: "No; but it isn't so far off. Some of the young chaps have their dress-coats made of diagonal. Try again, Roberts: you'll fetch it yet." Roberts disappears, and reappears with a frock-coat of blue and checked trousers. "Oh, that won't do, Roberts. Don't give way like that. Who ever saw a man in evening-dress with check trousers on? Now, what have we next?" As Roberts goes and comes, Campbell receives his burdens and verifies them. "A velvet jacket won't do, either, unless you're a travelling Englishman. Three pairs of summer pantaloons are all very well in their way; but they're out of season, and stripes are not the thing for evening wear any more. Beautiful bath gown, but more adapted for amateur dramatics than for a musicale. Two waistcoats and a Norfolk jacket mean well, but are not adapted to the purpose. Exemplary light overcoat, but still not quite the thing. Double-breasted reefer and Canada homespun trousers; admirably fitted for a sea-voyage and camping out. Armload of semi-detached waistcoats and pantaloons; very suggestive, but not instantly available. Pajamas not at all the thing. Elderly pair of doeskin trousers and low-cut waistcoat – Why, hello, Roberts! here's part of your dress-suit now! Where's the coat?"
Roberts, dropping into a chair and wiping his forehead, while he surveys the tangled heap of garments on the bed: "Given away. Got too small for me, three years ago. Agnes kept the waistcoat and trousers for the sake of association, because I told her I wore them at the party where we first met. They won't go half round me now."
Campbell, scrutinizing them critically as he holds them: "Well, look here, Roberts, we may have to come to these yet. Stand up, old fellow." Roberts mechanically stands up, and Campbell tries the top of the trousers against his waistband. "May need a little slitting down the back, so as to let them out a third, or two thirds, or so. But I guess we'll try an ice-pick first." He flings the clothes on the bed, and touches the electric bell.
Roberts: "Ice-pick?"
Campbell: "Yes; nothing like it for prying open bureau drawers." To Bella, the maid, who appears at the door in answer to his ring: "The ice-pick, please."
Bella: "Ice-pick, sir?"
Campbell: "Yes. The – ice – pick – here – quick."
Bella, vanishing, with a gesture of wonder at the pile of clothing on the bed: "All right, sir."
Roberts: "But, Willis! Won't it bruise and deface the bureau? Agnes is very careful of this bu – "
Campbell: "Not at all. You just set the pick in here over the lock, and pry. I sha'n't leave a scratch." They stoop down together in front of the bureau, and Campbell shows him how. "But what are you going to do? You've got to have your clothes if you're going to the musicale. Ah, here we are! Thanks," as Bella comes with the ice-pick, which he pushes in over the lock of the lowest drawer. "We'll begin with the lowest, because that's where Amy keeps mine, and if Agnes has got onto it through her, she'll be sure to do exactly the same. Now, then, I just scratch the bolt down with my knife, and Open, Sesame! What do you say to bruising your old bureau now?"
Roberts, as Campbell pulls out the drawer and sets it on a chair: "Perfect! Only" – he lifts the things from the drawer, and places them on another chair – "there don't seem to be anything here but underclothes."
Campbell: "Well, then, we must get the next out. No time to lose. Come! Keep shoving the pick in, and I'll scratch the bolt down with my knife. See? It's nothing." They pull the drawer out and set it on the floor, and Roberts ruefully contemplates it.
Roberts: "Nothing but shirts, collars, cuffs and neckties."
Campbell: "Ah, I don't know that. It's a deep drawer" – he begins taking the linen out, and laying it on the floor – "and the dress-suit may be at the bottom. No! Nothing here. You're right, Roberts. Well, now for the top drawer and the last. If we'd taken that out first, we needn't have taken out the second; we could have seen it in place. You ought to have thought of that, Roberts."
Roberts, with injury: "You suggested taking out the lowest first, yourself, Willis. You said Agnes would be sure to have put them there."
Campbell: "Did I? Well, I knew I must have a reason for it. But come along now, Roberts, and push the ice-pick in." After a season of experiment with the pick and the penknife: "The bolt won't scratch down. What are you going to do now, Roberts?"
Roberts: "I don't know."
Campbell: "But you've got to do something, you know. We can't just give it up. Where are those dress-trousers and waistcoat?" He begins tumbling the things on the bed, laying some on chairs, letting others drop to the floor. "Ah, here they are! Now, I'll tell you what, Roberts, you've got to wear these. Go into your dressing-room there and put them on, and then we can tell how much they have to be slit up the back."
Roberts: "But where's the coat, even if I could get the other things on?"
Campbell: "We'll think about that later. We haven't got any time to lose in talk. We can pin back the skirts of your frock-coat, as the travelling Americans used to do when they went to the opera in London. Hurry up!" He gives Roberts the garments, and pushes him into the door of his dressing-room, and walks impatiently up and down amidst the chaos of clothing till Roberts reappears. "Why, that isn't bad!"