Mr. Bojanus, who had been watching his client in silence and with a polite but also, Gumbril could not help feeling, a somewhat ironical smile, coughed. “It depends,” he said, “precisely what you mean by ‘nice.’” He cocked his head on one side, and the fine waxed end of his moustache was like a pointer aimed up at some remote star. Gumbril said nothing, but catching sight once more of his own side view, nodded a dubious agreement. “If by nice,” continued Mr. Bojanus, “you mean comfortable, well and good. If, however, you mean elegant, then, Mr. Gumbril, I fear I must disagree.” “But elegance,” said Gumbril, feebly playing the philosopher, “is only relative, Mr. Bojanus. There are certain African negroes, among whom it is considered elegant to pierce the lips and distend them with wooden plates, until the mouth looks like a pelican’s beak.” Mr. Bojanus placed his hand in his bosom and slightly bowed. “Very possibly, Mr. Gumbril,” he replied. “But if you’ll pardon my saying so, we are not African negroes.” Gumbril was crushed, deservedly. He looked at himself again in the mirrors. “Do you object,” he asked after a pause, “to all eccentricities in dress, Mr. Bojanus? Would you put us all into your elegant uniform?” “Certainly not,” replied Mr. Bojanus. “There are certain walks of life in which eccentricity in appearance is positively a _sine qua non_, Mr. Gumbril, and I might almost say _de rigueur_.” “And which walks of life, Mr. Bojanus, may I ask? You refer, perhaps, to the artistic walks? Sombreros and Byronic collars and possibly velveteen trousers? Though all that sort of thing is surely a little out of date, nowadays.” Enigmatically Mr. Bojanus smiled, a playful Sphinx. He thrust his right hand deeper into his bosom and with his left twisted to a finer needle the point of his moustache. “Not artists, Mr. Gumbril.” He shook his head. “In practice they may show themselves a little eccentric and negleejay. But they have no need to look unusual on principle. It’s only the politicians who need do it on principle. It’s only _de rigueur_, as one might say, in the political walks, Mr. Gumbril.” “You surprise me,” said Gumbril. “I should have thought that it was to the politician’s interest to look respectable and normal.” “But it is still more to his interest as a leader of men to look distinguished,” Mr. Bojanus replied. “Well, not precisely distinguished,” he corrected himself, “because that implies that politicians look _distangay_, which I regret to say, Mr. Gumbril, they very often don’t. Distinguishable, is more what I mean.” “Eccentricity is their badge of office?” suggested Gumbril. He sat down luxuriously on the Patent Small-Clothes.