"But, my dear boy," exclaimed the author, "surely it is silver?"

"I know," admitted the actor, "it does perhaps suggest that I am
living beyond my means, but the truth is I picked it up cheap."

The author turned to the manager.

"This won't do," he explained, "a real gentleman always carries a
gold cigarette case. He must be a gentleman, or there's no point in
the plot."

"Don't let us endanger any point the plot may happen to possess, for
goodness sake," agreed the manager, "let him by all means have a gold
cigarette case."

[How one may know the perfect Gentleman.]

So, regardless of expense, a gold cigarette case was obtained and put
down to expenses. And yet on the first night of that musical play,
when that leading personage smashed a tray over a waiter's head, and,
after a row with the police, came home drunk to his wife, even that
gold cigarette case failed to convince one that the man was a
gentleman beyond all doubt.

The old writers appear to have been singularly unaware of the
importance attaching to these socks, and ties, and cigarette-cases.
They told us merely what the man felt and thought. What reliance can
we place upon them? How could they possibly have known what sort of
man he was underneath his clothes? Tweed or broadcloth is not