first thing I did, on obtaining possession of these treasures, was
to get them into the dyeing-vat. They were unrecognizable when I
got them back -- in ultramarine blue, or whatever it was called. The
metamorphosis was complete: their warlike past was wiped out.

My intention was to have these two hundred blankets made into Polar
clothing, and I took counsel with myself how I might get this done. To
disclose the origin of the stuff would be an unfortunate policy. No
tailor in the world would make clothes out of old blankets, I was
pretty sure of that. I had to hit upon some stratagem. I heard of
a man who was a capable worker at his trade, and asked him to come
and see me. My office looked exactly like a woollen warehouse, with
blankets everywhere. The tailor arrived. "Was that the stuff?" "Yes,
that was it. Just imported from abroad. A great bargain. A lot of
samples dirt cheap." I had put on my most innocent and unconcerned
expression. I saw the tailor glance at me sideways; I suppose he
thought the samples were rather large. "A closely woven stuff,"
said he, holding it up to the light. "I could almost swear it was
'felted.' " We went carefully through every single sample, and took
the number. It was a long and tedious business, and I was glad when
I saw that at last we were nearing the end. Over in a corner there
lay a few more; we had reached the one hundred and ninety-third, so
there could not be many in the pile. I was occupied with something
else, and the tailor went through the remainder by himself. I was
just congratulating myself on the apparently fortunate result of the
morning's work when I was startled by an exclamation from the man
in the corner. It sounded like the bellow of a mad bull. Alas! there
stood the tailor enveloped in ultramarine, and swinging over his head
a blanket, the couleur changeante of which left no doubt as to the
origin of the "directly imported" goods. With a look of thunder the man