open, evil, foully sensual laugh. There was always about his mouth this ugly suggestion of a loose, corrupt, and evilly jubilant mirth, and yet he never laughed or smiled.
The man’s speech had this same quality. It was suave and courteous, but even in its most urbane assurances there was something non-committal, sly, and jeering, something that slid away from you, and was never to be grasped, a quality that was faithless, tricky and unwholesome. When Eugene came for the final fitting it was obvious that he had done as cheap and shoddy a job as he could do; the suit was vilely botched and skimped, sufficient cloth had not been put into it, and now it was too late to remedy the defect.
Yet the fitter gravely pulled the vest down till it met the trousers, tugged at the coat, and pulled the thing together where it stayed until Eugene took a breath or moved a muscle, when it would all come apart again, the collar bulging outward from the shoulder, the skimpy coat and vest crawling backward from the trousers, leaving a hiatus of shirt and belly that could not now be remedied by any means.
Then, gravely he would pull the thing together again, and in his suave, yet oily, sly, and non-committal phrases say:
“Um! Seems to fit you very well.”
Eugene was choking with exasperation, and knew that he had been done, because he had foolishly paid them half the bill already, and now knew no way out of it except to lose what he had paid and get nothing for it or take the thing and pay the balance. He was caught in a trap, but even as he jerked at the coat and vest speechlessly, seized his shirt and thrust the gaping collar in the fitter’s face, the man said smoothly:
“Um! Yes! The collar. Should think all that will be all right. Still needs a little alteration.” He made some chalk-marks on Eugene. “Should think you’ll find it fits you very well when the tailor makes the alterations.”
“When will the suit be ready?”
“Um. Should think you ought to have it by next Tuesday. Yes. I think you’ll find it ready by Tuesday.”
The sly words slid away from the boy like oil: there was nothing to pin him to or grasp him by, the yellowed eyes looked casually away and would not look at Eugene, the sensual face was suavely grave, the discoloured buck-teeth shone obscenely through the coarse loose mouth, and the suggestion of the foul loose smile was so pronounced now that it seemed that at any moment the man would have to turn away with heavy
