"Gibbons came trotting out of the dressing room with Nash's best evening clothes draped over his arm, whistling a merry tune--always a bad sign. "What are you doing with those?" Nash asked suspiciously. "Checking for moths," replied the valet testily. "We go to Brierwood next week, you will recall." "Not in that rig." "But there is to be a ball," sniffed Gibbons. "I had it from Mr. Hayden-Worth. Honestly, if I waited for you to tell me anything--" "Next week," Nash interjected. "That, Gibbons, is the operative word." "And if there are moths?" challenged the valet. "Have you any idea how long it would take to get a new suit of evening clothes made up?" Nash shrugged. "I must have a dozen more in there somewhere," he said, picking up his coffee. "Just drag out a set of old ones." "They mightn't fit," said Gibbons with another sniff. "None of us, I fear, are quite the men we once were." Nash put his coffee down, and turned sharply in his chair. "What the devil is that supposed to mean?" Gibbons smiled faintly. "You are almost five-and-thirty, sir," he said. "Things begin to shift--or spread--perhaps even sag." "I'll be damned," said Nash, leaping from his chair. He loosened the dressing gown and jerked it off. "Really, my lord!" Gibbons rolled his eyes. "The tape measure!" Nash growled, stripping off his shirt and hurling it to the floor. "Get me the goddamned tape measure!" Gibbons sighed, went into the dressing room, and returned with the tape, curled like a little snake in the palm of his hand. Nash loosened the fall of his trousers, and held up his arms. "All right," he said. "Measure it." "Sir, this really is not nec--" "No, by God, I said measure it." Gibbons wrinkled his nose and wrapped the heavy ribbon around Nash's waist. "Ah-ha!" said Nash. "Thirty-two inches, is it not?" "Tsk, tsk," said Gibbons. "What?" Nash demanded. "They do say a man's eyesight is the second thing to go," said Gibbons mournfully. "This tape plainly says thirty-three." Nash gasped in horror. "You must be lying." He squinted down. Yes, Gibbons was lying. The tape very plainly said thirty-four. "Oh, God!" said Nash. "Not to worry, sir," said Gibbons placatingly. "Before your sucking gasp of horror, it was an even three-and-thirty."