[Man and his Tailor.]

What's wrong with the "Made-up Tie"? I gather from the fashionable
novelist that no man can wear a made-up tie and be a gentleman. He
may be a worthy man, clever, well-to-do, eligible from every other
point of view; but She, the refined heroine, can never get over the
fact that he wears a made-up tie. It causes a shudder down her high-
bred spine whenever she thinks of it. There is nothing else to be
said against him. There is nothing worse about him than this--he
wears a made-up tie. It is all sufficient. No true woman could ever
care for him, no really classy society ever open its doors to him.

I am worried about this thing because, to confess the horrid truth, I
wear a made-up tie myself. On foggy afternoons I steal out of the
house disguised. They ask me where I am going in a hat that comes
down over my ears, and why I am wearing blue spectacles and a false
beard, but I will not tell them. I creep along the wall till I find
a common hosier's shop, and then, in an assumed voice, I tell the man
what it is I want. They come to fourpence halfpenny each; by taking
the half-dozen I get them for a trifle less. They are put on in a
moment, and, to my vulgar eye, look neat and tasteful.

Of course, I know I am not a gentleman. I have given up hopes of
ever being one. Years ago, when life presented possibilities, I
thought that with pains and intelligence I might become one. I never
succeeded. It all depends on being able to tie a bow. Round the
bed-post, or the neck of the water-jug, I could tie the wretched
thing to perfection. If only the bed-post or the water-jug could
have taken my place and gone to the party instead of me, life would
have been simpler. The bed-post and the water-jug, in its neat white