Then in a cabinet I superintended Cousin Egbert's change of raiment.
We clashed again in the matter of sock-suspenders, which I was
astounded to observe he did not possess. He insisted that he had never
worn them--garters he called them--and never would if he were shot for
it, so I decided to be content with what I had already gained.

By dint of urging and threatening I at length achieved my ground-work
and was more than a little pleased with my effect, as was the
shop-assistant, after I had tied the pearl ascot and adjusted a quiet
tie-pin of my own choosing.

"Now I hope you're satisfied!" growled my charge, seizing his bowler
hat and edging off.

"By no means," I said coldly. "The hat, if you please, sir."

He gave it up rebelliously, and I had again to threaten him with the
telephone before he would submit to a top-hat with a moderate bell and
broad brim. Surveying this in the glass, however, he became
perceptibly reconciled. It was plain that he rather fancied it, though
as yet he wore it consciously and would turn his head slowly and
painfully, as if his neck were stiffened.

Having chosen the proper gloves, I was, I repeat, more than pleased
with this severely simple scheme of black, white, and gray. I felt I
had been wise to resist any tendency to colour, even to the most
delicate of pastel tints. My last selection was a smartish Malacca
stick, the ideal stick for town wear, which I thrust into the
defenceless hands of my client.