Of course, before a man reaches my years the fear of criticism might prevent him from indulging his fancy.  I am not afraid of that.  I am decidedly for pleasing color combinations in dress.  I like to see the women’s clothes, say, at the opera.  What can be more depressing than the sombre black which custom requires men to wear upon state occasions?  A group of men in evening clothes looks like a flock of crows, and is just about as inspiring.

After all, what is the purpose of clothing?  Are not clothes intended primarily to preserve dignity and also to afford comfort to their wearer?  Now I know of nothing more uncomfortable than the present-day clothes of men.  The finest clothing made is a person’s own skin, but, of course, society demands something more than this.

The best-dressed man I have ever seen, however, was a native of the Sandwich Islands who attracted my attention thirty years ago.  Now, when that man wanted to don especial dress to honor a public occasion or a holiday, why, he occasionally put on a pair of spectacles.  Otherwise the clothing with which God had provided him sufficed.

Of course, I have ideas of dress reform.  For one thing, why not adopt some of the women’s styles?  Goodness knows, they adopt enough of ours.  Take the peek-a-boo waist, for instance.  It has the obvious advantages of being cool and comfortable, and in addition it is almost always made up in pleasing colors which cheer and do not depress.

It is true that I dressed the Connecticut Yankee at King Arthur’s Court in a plug-hat, but, let’s see, that was twenty-five years ago.  Then no man was considered fully dressed until he donned a plug-hat.  Nowadays I think that no man is dressed until he leaves it home.  Why, when I left home yesterday they trotted out a plug-hat for me to wear.

“You must wear it,” they told me; “why, just think of going to Washington without a plug-hat!” But I said no; I would wear a derby or nothing.  Why, I believe I could walk along the streets of New York—­I never do —­but still I think I could—­and I should never see a well-dressed man wearing a plug-hat.  If I did I should suspect him of something.  I don’t know just what, but I would suspect him.

Why, when I got up on the second story of that Pennsylvania ferry-boat coming down here yesterday I saw Howells coming along.  He was the only man on the boat with a plug-hat, and I tell you he felt ashamed of himself.  He said he had been persuaded to wear it against his better sense.  But just think of a man nearly seventy years old who has not a mind of his own on such matters!

“Are you doing any work now?” the youngest and most serious reporter asked.