Indeed, we had just as much objection to walking out with Fred Fop as we had with Jack Sloven; one was quite as unpleasantly conspicuous as the other.
It was often a marvel to some of us how it came to be allowed for a boy to dress as Fred did.

You should have seen him coming down the stairs on Sunday, as we were about to start for church, putting on a lavender glove, and taking a couple of minutes to adjust his hat to the proper angle on his head.
How he minced along the pavement, dreading to speck his exquisite boots, and how artlessly he would carry one glove in his hand, in order to show oil his elegant ring.

His umbrella was the size of an ordinary young lady's parasol, and as for his collars--of course it was impossible to turn his head one way or the other with those things sticking up on either side.

He always insisted on having the inside of the pavement, in order to avoid the splashing of the cabs; and invariably entered church last, having occupied a certain time in the porch (so it was said) to make sure his necktie was properly tied, and that the corner of his handkerchief was hanging sufficiently far out of his breast-pocket, and that the expression of his countenance was sufficiently interesting.
Having satisfied himself on these points, he advanced up the aisle in procession with himself, and scented the whole building in his triumphal progress.
It is hardly to be wondered at that Master Fop became the victim of all sorts of practical jokes.

If by any chance one of the fellows should happen to be pitching water out of the window, it was an extraordinary coincidence that Fred in his grand hat was nearly always walking underneath.