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 if we were shut up by ourselves without a chance of our best young man or our deadliest rival dropping in unexpected-like. But for what reason men dress—as they do—I never could quite discover. They can't possibly think that they look nice in hideous things like trousers, that get creased and baggy at the knees whatever care you take—at least, Bob says so—and a coat and waistcoat that show off to the full every awkward line and curve. And as for a man's dress-suit! The only decent thing he has got is a frock-coat, and that is never allowed out without that most hideous of head-gears, a topper. Men talk about women being the slaves of fashion. But it is nothing compared with the depth of the slavery of men. Why, there isn't a single one of them with the courage to break away, and start out on a new line on his own. And the comic part of it is that they nearly all agree that their present-day dress is hideous. Yet they go on wearing it like a lot of sheep simply because everybody else does. In fact, so deeply are they enthralled that it's considered quite bad form—so Bob says—to diverge, even to the smallest extent, from the common ruck. You get called a 'bounder' if you let your desire for colour or originality break out too loudly in a waistcoat or a tie. But if men could only see the terrible effect their style of costume is having upon the native mind and landscape, I really do think they would hold a meeting in Hyde Park, and change it. The poor native, seeing that the Englishman is on top just now, thinks that he must be right in the matter of clothes