commerce in motor-bicycles, Charlie spent a lot in clothes. His mother
had advised his father to "speak to him about it." But his father had
declined to offer any criticism, on the ground that Charlie had fought
in Mesopotamia, Italy and France. Moreover, Charlie had scotched any
possible criticism by asserting that good clothes were all that stood
between him and the ruin of his career. "If I dressed like the dad," he
had once grimly and gloomily remarked, "it would be the beginning of the
end for me."

"Smart?" he now exclaimed, stepping forward. "Look at that." He advanced
his right leg a little. "Look at that crease. See where it falls?" The
trouser-crease, which, as all wise men know, ought to have fallen
exactly on the centre of the boot-lacing, fell about an inch to the left
thereof. "And I've tried this suit on four times! All the bally tailors
in London seem to think you've got nothing else to do but call and try
on and try on and try on. Never seems to occur to them that they don't
know their business. It's as bad as staff work. However, if this fellow
thinks I'm going to stick these trousers he'll have the surprise of his
life to-morrow morning." The youth spoke in a tone of earnest disgust.

"My boy," said Mr. Prohack, "you have my most serious sympathy. Your
life must be terribly complicated by this search for perfection."

"Yes, that's all very well," said Charlie.

"Where's Sissie?"

"Hanged if I know!"

"I heard her playing the piano not five minutes since."