te American society, is
to-day the best-dressed, best-kept man in the world.'

Forty or fifty years ago no newspaper could plausibly have made that
statement, and, if it had, its office would probably have been wrecked
by a mob of insulted citizens; but the Clothing Industry knew us better
than Dr. Jaeger, better even than we knew ourselves. Its ideal picture
of a handsome, snappy young fellow, madly enjoying himself in
exquisitely fitting, ready-to-wear clothes, stirred imaginations that
had been cold and unresponsive to the doctor's photograph. We admired
the doctor for his courage, but we admired the handsome, snappy young
fellow for his looks; nay, more, we jumped in multitudes to the
conclusion, which has since been partly borne out, that ready-to-wear
clothes would make us all look like him. And so, in all the classes that
constitute American society (which I take to include everybody who wears
a collar), the art of dressing, formerly restricted to the few, became
popular with the many. Other important and necessary industries--the
hatters, the shoemakers, the shirtmakers, the cravatters, the hosiers,
even the makers of underwear--hurried out of hiding; and soon, whoever
had eyes to look could study that handsome, snappy young fellow in every
stage of costume,--for the soap-makers also saw their opportunity,--from
the bath up.

The tailor survived, thanks probably to the inevitable presence of
Doubting Thomas in any new movement; but he, too, has at last seen the
light. I read quite recently his announcement that in 1919 men's clothes
would be 'sprightly without conspicuousness; dashing without verging on
extremes; youthful in temperament and inspirational.' Some of us, it
appears, remain self-conscious and a little afraid to snap; and there
the tailor catches us with his cunningly conceived 'sprightly without
conspicuousness.' Unlike the _vers-libre_ poetess who would fain 'go
naked in the street and walk unclothed into people's parlors,'--leaving,
one imagines, an idle but deeply interested gathering on the
sidewalk,--we are timid about extremes. We wish to dash--but within
reasonable limits. Nor, without forcing the note, would we willingly
miss an opportunity to inspire others, or commit the affectation of
concealing a still youthful temperament.

A thought for the tablet: _As a man dresses, so he is._

Thirty or forty years ago there were born, and lived in a popular
magazine, two gentlemen-heroes whose p