'Sorry' I said.
The home signal appeared, peeking from the trees. It was off – just as it ought to've been – and we rumbled over the level crossing, where a motorcar stood waiting at the gate.
'You wait,' yelled Clive as we passed it by; 'it's us that'll be stopping for them before long!' He grinned at me, but I couldn't grin back, for I was fretting about whether I was up to the mark for an engine man.
As we crashed and rocked over the Xs into the excursion platforms, Clive said: 'You're all of a jump. Shall I stand you a pint?'
'But you've got your bag in the locker,' I said. 'Doesn't that mean you're sneaking off like before?'
We'd come to a stand now. Clive destroyed the vacuum while thinking over what I'd said. Then he decided to grin. 'I've time for a pint beforehand,' he said, eventually.
After a quick word with Reuben, who was heading directly back to the Joint, we ran the engine into the Scarborough shed. There were two fragments of yellow soap in the engine- men's lobby this time, so we were both able to get tolerably clean. Clive kept his carpet bag by him at all times.
We had a pint in a pub near the shed, and I was sitting there out of sorts, too hot, and wondering whether I'd be in a funk over obstacles on the line for the rest of my days. What bothered me especially was that next week was Wakes. Would we be given the Hind's excursion run once again? Then another thought came: would we be given the Highflyer for a second time?
Clive said, 'Sup up, we're off.'
'We?' I said.
'You want bucking up,' he said.
So we stepped out of the pub into the booming blue of the Scarborough day. The motor charabancs parked along the station were all shaking with their engines on, panting like horses. Looking down at his new boots, and with his carpet bag in his hand, Clive began to walk. I watched him go and he called out, 'Look sharp!' so I started to follow.
We didn't walk down the Valley Road, where Scarborough became the Garden City, but away from the sea and into some side streets that the sun didn't suit. We came to a row of dark shops selling gloomy things like sideboards, and one of the businesses was a tailor's.
Well, I ought to have guessed. There was a sign above the door, in small red letters: 'winterbottom: cash taylor'. Clive pushed the door, and the bell rang very loudly, but Winterbottom was just on the other side of it, waiting. He stood up and a cricketing paper fell to the floor. He was a small, dark man with side whiskers which he for some reason wouldn't let meet to form a beard. His shop was small and so dark after the brightness of the day that blue smudges floated before my eyes as I looked about it.
'Good afternoon, gentlemen,' he said; then, recognising Clive: 'Mr Carter! Have you come in on an engine?'
'Nay,' said Clive. 'Walked it. All the way from Halifax!'
They both laughed at that. I knew right off that Clive and the tailor were thick with each other. Clive introduced me to Winterbottom, saying: 'This fellow needs a suit.'
'Working suit?' asked Winterbottom, half speaking to Clive and half to me.
'A Sunday suit,' said Clive, 'that'll come in for work later.'
'Wear it out,' said Winterbottom, 'then wear it out'
'He always says that' Clive said to me.
'To measure or ready-made?' asked Winterbottom.
'I can't run to tailoring,' I said straight away.
'Should be no trouble to fit off the peg' said Winterbottom, eyeing me up and down: 'the greyhound breed!'
'That's another thing he always says,' said Clive, 'so don't get swell-headed.'
Winterbottom walked smartly towards a line of hanging black suits, then went clean through them and disappeared.
He came back a moment later with half a dozen suits over one arm. He let one of the coats – a blue one – dangle down. Clive shook his head at it, and Winterbottom let it fall to the floor, the trousers and waistcoat too. He held up another coat, biscuit coloured this one. It was the same coat as Clive's.
'Poacher's pockets!' I exclaimed, and felt foolish.
'Norfolk jacket' said Winterbottom.
Clive was shaking his head. 'Won't do,' he said, which I thought rum, since it did very well for him.
The next coat Clive liked, and so did I. It was blue, of course, loose and comfortable-looking, and not too heavy. It came with turned-up trousers and there was a choice of two waistcoats to go with. Winterbottom held up the two: one had more pockets than the other – a lot more. It was a complicated sort of waistcoat, like George Ogden's.
'I'll try that one' I said, pointing to it.
I went into the little changing room and when I came out Winterbottom was saying something to Clive and pointing me towards the mirror. He and Clive stood behind me, looking on, which stopped me looking at myself. So I put the whole thing on to them. 'What do you think?'
'Rather flattering, sir,' said Winterbottom.
I expected Clive to put in his motto with 'He always says that,' but he didn't. This was no joking matter. The suit was rather fetching. I could see myself driving engines in this, big ones at that, and meeting no obstructions as I did so. I could also see myself at the University of Liverpool, chatting to Mr Aspinall himself about railway matters.
'What weight is the cloth?' I asked.
'Give over' said Clive, 'you barmpot.'
'Eighteen ounce' said Winterbottom, 'a good summer weight.'
'I prefer this sort of light suiting,' I said.
'Quite so, sir,' said Winterbottom.
'Just out of interest,' I said, 'would you ever think of buying cloth as low as twelve ounces?'
'No' said Winterbottom.
After a bit more fancying myself in the mirror, I asked the cost.
'Guinea suit,' said Winterbottom. 'I have a tie in brown that'll set it off to a tee,' he added, before disappearing once more into the line of coats.
'Tell him the lining feels a little rucked at the shoulder' said Clive when he'd gone.
'But it isn't,' I said, 'well I don't think it is, any road.'
'No,' said Clive, 'but he'll know what you mean.'
'What will I mean?' I said.
'That you want a little off.'
'He feels it's a little caught under the shoulder' said Clive when Winterbottom came back.
'A pound and sixpence' said Winterbottom double-quick, before adding, 'It's already discounted, you know.' He then let a brown necktie dangle down.
'No…' I said. 'No thanks.' I certainly didn't want the necktie, but the question was the suit.
Winterbottom could see me thinking things over. 'Do you want it on HP?' he said.
'He's trying to work out what the missus'd say' said Clive, grinning, and he had that right, although of course I wouldn't let on.
The wife wanted me to progress, and a good suit might come in there. She liked what was down-to-date, and turn-ups were the latest thing in trousers. Then again we were meant to be putting the coppers aside for the Special Piano.
I said I wasn't sure, that I would think on, and Winterbottom wasn't put out in the least. He just cut me off completely. Turning to Clive, he said something I couldn't quite catch, and pointed to the carpet bag.
I dawdled off to the changing room, trying to cotton on to what was being said, but all I heard was the word 'snowdrop'.
Five minutes later I was out in the street once more with Clive. 'You'll regret that,' he said. 'It did wonders for you.'
'I can always come back for it' I said, but Clive wouldn't have it.
'It'll be gone in a flash,' he said. 'Top summer wear, that is.' He walked off with a wave of his free hand and I didn't have the brass neck to follow him this time. Before turning a corner he called back once more: 'Did wonders for you, that suit!'
I wandered back to the station and thought about taking the first train for Halifax, but I had a new sort of superstition about seeing the sea in a seaside town. If I didn't see it, there might be a stone placed on the line. So I walked down the Valley Road past the gardens in bloom. The same sort of plant came up over and again: a bush with long white flowers like railway signals. Wherever it grew, folk stood admiring it.