Each in his own way excited at the prospect of attending the Exposition, the two lads shifted rapidly into dress uniform, although Miles encountered such difficulty in lacing his leggings, knotting his neckerchief with the needed symmetry, and securing correctly the forty-four buttons of his dickey, one for each State of the Union, that Lindsay, after having applied a few drops of Macassar oil to his own locks and combing them carefully, was obliged to go to his unskilled shipmate's assistance.
* * * * * * * * * *
The sentence begins by highlighting how Miles and Lindsay couldn't be any more different, each having their own reasons for their excitement about the Exposition. I assume Lindsay cannot wait to be intellectually stimulated by lessons of languages far flung or learning of the varied cultures across the globe while Miles can't wait to tuck into the various "treats" cherished by those same cultures.
I suppose I should stop referring to Miles as a "klutz" because I think there's actually something physically wrong with him that hampers his ability to do physical tasks others take for granted. He might have cerebral palsy or "Little's Disease." Although he also just might have fat fingers and a child's general impatience with concentrating long enough to correctly button forty-four fucking buttons.
I don't know if Lindsay used Rowland's Macassar Oil or some other brand but here's a nice advert for it.
It ends with a reference to Miles as being "unskilled" but who is "unskilled" in the art of dressing? Perhaps Miles just rarely has a chance to put on his dress uniform. Or maybe "unskilled" is just the narrator's attempt at a kindness by avoiding mentioning Miles's fat fingers.
Although I suppose I'm unsiklled at dressing! I still have the first tie I ever purchased, still tied from the only time I ever wore it, by my Uncle Jerry. It's a Grateful Dead tie.
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