And he hauled forth a pair of black-and-white trousers with checks as large as the squares of a chessboard, a blue cloth vest with white polka dots, and a long, gray Prince Albert coat, with mauve satin lapels. The shirt was pink and blue, stripes of each alternating, running cross-ways, a white collar, and a flaring red four-in-hand tie!
"Great Scott, Adonis!" I cried. "Must I wear those?"
"You're under no compulsion to do so," said he. "But I thought you said you were a literary man."
"Well?"
"Well—literary men never care what they wear so long as they attract attention, do they?"
I laughed. "We are not all built that way, Adonis," said I. "Some of us are modest and have a little taste."
"Well, it's news to me," said he. "I guess it must be among the minor lights."
"It is—generally," said I. "And if you don't mind, I'd rather wear the golf clothes."
And I did.