“It’s bad enough,” he went on, “to be hurtin’ yer knees wi’ new breeks, and haein’ the folk lookin’ at ye, but it’s a mercy for you and me we’re no’ weemen. You and me buys a hat, and as lang’s the rim and the rest o’t stick thegither, it’s no’ that faur oot the fashion: we need to hide oorsel’s. The only thing I see changes in is collars, and whether it’s the lying-doon kind or the double-breisted chats, they hack yer neck like onything. There’s changes in ties, but gie me plain black. “Noo, Jinnet has to hae the shape o’ her hat shifted every month as regular’s a penny diary. If it’s flet in June, it’s cockin’ up in July; and if the bash is on the left side in August, it has to be on the right side in September. “Och! but there’s no’ muckle wrang wi’ Jinnet for a’ that; she wanted to buy me a gold watch-chain last Fair. “‘A gold watch-chain’s a nice, snod, bien-lookin’ thing aboot a man,’ she says, ‘and it’s gey usefu’.’ “No, nor usefu’,’ says I; ‘a watch-chain looks fine on a man, but it’s his gallowses dae the serious wark.’” “Still, Erchie,” I said, “our sex can’t escape criticism for its eccentricities of costume either. Just fancy our pockets, for instance!” “Ye’re right, there,” Erchie agreed; “hae I no’ fifteen pouches mysel’ when I hae my topcoat on? If I put a tramway ticket into yin’ o’ them I wadna be able to fin’ oot which o’ them it was in for an’oor or twa. “Pockets is a rale divert. Ye canna dae with-oot nine or ten in Gleska if ye try yer best. In the country it’s different. Doon aboot Yoker, and Gargunnock, and Deid Slow and them places, a’ a man needs in the wye o’ pouches is twa trooser yins--yin for each haund when he’s leanin’ against a byre-door wonderin’ whit job he’ll start the morn. “There’s a lot o’ fancy wee pouches that’ll no’ haud mair nor a pawn-ticket aboot a Gleska man’s claes, but in the country they dae wi’ less and dig them deep. “Sae faur as I can see, the pouch is a new-fashioned thing a’thegither. Look at them auld chaps ye see in pictures wi’ the galvanised or black-leaded airn suits on; if yin o’ them wanted a pouch he wad need to cut it himsel’ wi’ a sardine-opener, and then he wad peel a’ his knuckles feelin’ for his hankey or the price o’ a pint. I’m gled I wisna gaun aboot when them galvanised airn suits was the go; it must hae been awfu’ sair on the nails scratchin’ yersel’. Yer claes were made then in a biler-works. When ye went for the fit-on, the cutter bashed in the slack bits at the back wi’ a hammer and made it easier for ye under the oxter wi’ a cauld chisel. “‘I want it higher at the neck,’ says you. “‘Right!’ says he, quite game, and bangs in twa or three extra rivets. And your wife, if ye had yin, had to gie your suits a polish up every Friday when she was daein’ the kitchen grate. “It was the same when the Hielan’s was the wye ye read aboot in books, and every Hielan’-man wore the kilts. “There was nae pocket in a pair o’ kilts.