"Say," he said decisively, "she'll ask for them finger-bowls--she'll ask
for 'em, and what'd I do if we hadn't got 'em."
She did ask for them; and henceforth the West said of any woman who put
on airs and wanted what she wasn't born to: "She's a finger-bowl lady."
It was Jim who opened the door to Jethro Fawe, and his first glance was
one of prejudice. His quick perception saw that the Romany wore clothes
not natural to him. He felt the artificial element, the quality of
disguise. He was prepared to turn the visitor away, no matter what he
wanted, but Ingolby's card handed to him by the Romany made him pause. He
had never known his master give a card like that more than once or twice
in the years they had been together. He fingered the card, scrutinized it
carefully, turned it over, looked heavenward reflectively, as though the
final permission for the visit remained with him, and finally admitted
the visitor.
"Mr. Ingolby ain't in," he said. "He went out a little while back. You
got to wait," he added sulkily, as he showed the Romany into Ingolby's
working-room.
As Jim did so, he saw lying on a chair a suit of clothes on top of which
were a wig and false beard and moustache. Instantly he got between the
visitor and the make-up.
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