On the day after the ball,
beneath his great glory, he had trembled to meet Mr Duncalf's eye, lest
Mr Duncalf should ask him: "Machin, what were _you_ doing at the
Town Hall last night, behaving as if you were the Shah of Persia, the
Prince of Wales, and Henry Irving?" But Mr Duncalf had said nothing, and
Mr Duncalf's eye had said nothing, and Denry thought that the danger was
past.
Now it surged up. "Who invited you to the Mayor's ball?" demanded Mr
Duncalf like thunder.
Yes, there it was! And a very difficult question.
"I did, sir," he blundered out. Transparent veracity. He simply could
not think of a lie.
"Why?"
"I thought you'd perhaps forgotten to put my name down on the list of
invitations, sir."
"Oh!" This grimly. "And I suppose you thought I'd also forgotten to put
down that tailor chap, Shillitoe?"
So it was all out! Shillitoe must have been chattering. Denry remembered
that the classic established tailor of the town, Hatterton, whose trade
Shillitoe was getting, was a particular friend of Mr Duncalf's. He saw
the whole thing.
"Well?" persisted Mr Duncalf, after a judicious silence from Denry.
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