Who's your tailor?
I want to get a different one.

I'm going in for some of the swellest-fitting uniforms that any tailor around here can turn out." Greg, who had managed to breathe naturally for the last minute, now struggled with another of his purple-faced paroxysms.
"I didn't think to ask who my tailor was," Prescott replied quickly.
"In fact, I don't think I would have been told if I had asked.

You see, every cadet here has to take just what clothes are issued to him at the cadet store.

That's the rule for all cadets here." "Do you mean to tell me that I've got to wear 'hand-me-downs' ?" demanded Bert Dodge angrily.

"Save that sort of stuff for fellows who'll believe it." It was plain that, if Bert Dodge had dropped in with any intention of being neighborly and from-home, he had rapidly forgotten his plan.
Neither Dick nor Greg had any reason for being fond of the fellow, even if he had once been a schoolmate at Gridley High School.