Note 17 — Chapter Ten

... there was something enormously stable and implacable about my brother Henry, that dates back in my memory even to his first long trousers when he was in High School. In spite of the dry cackle of his humor, my memory does not take me back to the time when a gray kind of reserve did not seem to powder over his entire personality. How we used to tease him about his suits! Jevey, our tailor up in the Renchler Block, used to buy the gray, herring-bone cloth by the bolt and put it away for Henry’s annual encroachments. Long after Jevey had died and his son, Big Jevey, had rejuvenated the business by catering to the campus-cut of the younger generation, that herring-gray bolt continued to lie on the shelf at my brother’s beck and call. I never remember seeing him in a day-suit of any other cloth, color, or design. These suits, made in Centralia, were delivered to him, whatever his whereabouts, arriving by express in a long, brown box, marked JEVEY, OF HIGH STREET.