THE news that the price of lounge suits will have risen to twenty-four
pounds by the autumn has created something of a sartorial panic in the
City and the West End.
Famous old wardrobes are being broken up on all sides by owners anxious
to acquire fresh clothing before it is too late, whilst the small
properties thus created find eager tenants amongst those who cannot
afford a new outfit at all.
Many tailors who have built new suits are beginning to dispose of them
on three or five year repairing leases, and possession of these may
sometimes be secured from the present occupiers on payment of a
substantial premium.
Gentlemen possessing both town and country sets of suitings are in many
cases letting the latter in order to come up to London for the season,
whilst others are resorting to various economical artifices to meet the
crisis. Plus four golf knickers, let down, make admirable wedding
trousers for a short man, and many are the old college blazers dyed
black and doing duty as natty pea-jackets.
In the City, of course, fustian and corduroys are almost the only wear,
and there is much divergence of opinion on the Stock Exchange as to the
best knot for spotted red neckerchiefs and the proper way of tying the
difficult little bow beneath the knees.
In Parliament, where of course the old costly fashions have long been
out of vogue, the change is equally noticeable. Lord ROBERT CECIL, for
instance, habitually wears the white canvas suit in which Mr. AUGUSTUS
JOHN painted him; Lord BIRKENHEAD mounts the Woolsack in an old cassock,
which, as he points out, not only allows a very scanty attire underneath
it, but gives him particular confidence in elucidating St. Matthew;
while the PRIME MINISTER himself set off for San Remo in a simple set of
striped sackcloth dittos. Many Members are having their old pre-war
morning coats turned; Mr. WINSTON CHURCHILL in machine-gun overalls, Mr.
MALLABY-DEELEY self-dressed, Sir EDWARD CARSON in a simple union suit,
are conspicuous figures, and Mr. HORATIO BOTTOMLEY by a whimsical yet
thrifty fancy often attends the House in the humble attire of the Weaver
in _A Midsummer Night's Dream_.
Even in the Welsh collieries it is becoming the habit to go down the
pits in rough home-spun, and reserving the top hat, morning coat and
check trousers for striking in.
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[Illustration: _Assistant._ "I'M AFRAID WE'RE RIGHT OUT
OF MOUSTACHE BRUSHES, SIR, BUT THAT'S AN EYEBROW BRUSH,
AND IT WOULD, I THINK, SERVE THE PURPOSE."]
* * * * *
"DENIKIN TIRED.