The ancients, we know, when escaping from shipwreck, suspended in the votive temple the garments in which they had struggled through the wave.
Jackeymo looked on those relics of the past with a kindred superstition.
"This coat the padrone wore on such an occasion.

I remember the very evening the padrone last put on those pantaloons!" And coat and pantaloons were tenderly dusted, and carefully restored to their sacred rest.
But now, after all, what was to be done?
Jackeymo was much too proud to exhibit his person to the eyes of the squire's butler in habiliments discreditable to himself and the padrone.

In the midst of his perplexity the bell rang, and he went down into the parlour.
Riccabocca was standing on the hearth under his symbolical representation of the "Patriae Exul." "Giacomo," quoth he, "I have been thinking that thou hast never done what I told thee, and fitted thyself out from my superfluities.

But we are going now into the great world: visiting once begun, Heaven knows where it may stop.

Go to the nearest town and get thyself clothes.
Things are dear in England.