Then, with the garments in his hand, he scrutinized the artist closely.
'I don't like that clerical collar,' he remarked.

'Have you nothing else ?' The professor of drawing pondered for a moment, and then brightened; 'I have a pair of low-necked shirts,' he said, 'that I used to wear in Paris as a student.

They are rather loud.' 'The very thing!' ejaculated Michael.

'You'll look perfectly beastly.
Here are spats, too,' he continued, drawing forth a pair of those offensive little gaiters.

'Must have spats! And now you jump into these, and whistle a tune at the window for (say) three-quarters of an hour.
After that you can rejoin me on the field of glory.' So saying, Michael returned to the studio.