“I was a bit worried at first I’d look too fat in a kilt, but the tailor told me he’d far sooner make a kilt for a figure like mine than for one of those thin fellows. Wilton was a bit obstructive about it.” Wilton was Chester Royde’s English valet.

“He was?”

“Yes; I think he was annoyed because I dressed myself yesterday afternoon and asked Kilwhillie to look me over.”

“And Kilwhillie said it was all right?”

“I don’t think he’s tickled to death by the orange kilt. He said it was brighter than he thought it would be. He said he’d have advised a saffron kilt, the kind some of the Irish use, if he’d known I was going all out on orange. He put me wise, too, about the sporran.”

“How?”

“Why, I thought it would be more convenient to wear it on one side like a trouser pocket. But it seems that for a fellow to wear his sporran on one side tells against him pretty heavily in Highland society. I suppose I’ll soon get used to walking about like a kangaroo with a pouch in front of me, but I still think the place for a pocket is on the side. I asked him if there was any objection to me carrying an extra sporran on the hip, but that suggestion upset him a lot. He wouldn’t hear of it. Still, there’s no question about it, Carrie. The kilt’s pretty comfortable.”

Chester Royde took a turn round the room to demonstrate the ease with which he could carry the unfamiliar garment.

“You look very comfortable,” his wife assured him.

Chester stopped suddenly and gazed at her gravely.

“Say, Carrie, what do you suppose I’m wearing underneath this kilt?”

“Why, I don’t know, Chester. Little panties?”

“Little panties nothing. I’m not wearing a darned thing underneath except the tails of my shirt.”

“Didn’t the tailor send them?”

“Nobody wears anything underneath a kilt.”

“Chester, I don’t believe it.”

“Well, would I be such a mutt as to go about like a nood statue hung around with a curtain unless it was what they were all doing?”

“Chester, you must have made a mistake.”

“No mistake at all. The tailor told me some folk wore tartan trews when they were going to a dance. They’re the kind of panties old maids used to wear. But when I consulted Kilwhillie he said he wouldn’t agree even to that. He said if I’d made up my mind to wear the kilt I must wear the kilt properly, or he’d take no responsibility in the matter.”

“He’s taken on a much bigger responsibility as it is,” Carrie declared.

“Aw, don’t worry. I’m not going to fall down on this business.”