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En whah I goes, dat cat goes. Dat cat 's
we-all's folks."
"Oh, all right," said Peter, resignedly. After all, Emma Campbell
and the cat _were_ all the folks he had.
He went to Charleston the next morning, in accordance with the
instructions his uncle had given him in their last talk, and the
bank at which he presented himself treated him with distinguished
consideration. Peter heard for the first time the dulcet accents of
Money.
Like Mr. Wilfer in "Our Mutual Friend," Peter had never had
everything all together all at once. When he had a suit his shoes
were shabby, and when it got around to shoes his coat was shiny in
the seams and his hat of last year's vintage. He was boyishly
delighted to buy at one time all that he wanted, but as
made-to-order clothes were altogether outside of his reckoning as
yet, he bought ready-made. His taste was too simple to be
essentially bad, but you knew he was a country boy in store clothes
and a made tie.
He had never been in Charleston before, and he reveled in the
ineluctable charm of the lovely old town.


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