What to wear...

Wednesday and Thursday proved a bit of a grind, with Ray rather down at the mouth, though he insisted on playing game after game each night. As an aside, the Austin-Healey should be here Friday next.

For some reason tonight's choice of dress seems particularly poignant. I do not wish to arrive in the nines, as though I were putting on the posh airs of newfound wealth, but I also do not wish to downplay my winnings by arriving in an old college sweater and worn corduroys, for the old boy knows just how much I'm up and it might give him the pique. The best approach is, perhaps, if I come across as rather intoxicated and actually throw an entire game. That might pep the boy up and put more sparkle into the next trouncing. Yes, that is definitely it. You can't keep picking apples without watering the tree. Tuxedo, with the shirt collar open and the tie undone, no jacket—I'll have just come from an afternoon at Napoleon's, meeting with an old friend. That's just the thing. An ash stain on the left leg.