"Yes; and thought him one degree better than Stultz, whom, indeed, I have
long condemned, as fit only for minors at Oxford, and majors in the
infantry."

"True," said Russelton, with a very faint smile at a pun, somewhat in his
own way, and levelled at a tradesman, of whom he was, perhaps, a little
jealous--"True; Stultz aims at making gentlemen, not coats; there is a
degree of aristocratic pretension in his stitches, which is vulgar to an
appalling degree. You can tell a Stultz coat any where, which is quite
enough to damn it: the moment a man's known by an invariable cut, and
that not original, it ought to be all over with him. Give me the man who
makes the tailor, not the tailor who makes the man."

"Right, by G--!" cried Sir Willoughby, who was as badly dressed as one of
Sir E--'s dinners. "Right; just my opinion. I have always told my
Schneiders to make my clothes neither in the fashion nor out of it; to
copy no other man's coat, and to cut their cloth according to my natural
body, not according to an isosceles triangle. Look at this coat, for
instance," and Sir Willoughby Townshend made a dead halt, that we might
admire his garment the more accurately.

"Coat!" said Russelton, with an appearance of the most naive surprise,
and taking hold of the collar, suspiciously, by the finger and thumb;
"coat, Sir Willoughby! do you call this thing a coat?"




CHAPTER XXXIII.