By Special Appointment

An elaborate crest at the top of a postcard caught Vag's attention one morning. Looking down, past the "Est. 1639" and the "By Special Appointment to H.R.H.," Vag learned that an itinerant representative of Scott and Hanbury Ltd. (Military and Civil Tailors of 43 Knight st., London S.W.1) would soon receive clients at the Parker House.

Two weeks, or rather a fortnight, later, unconcerned in old shoes and an odd jacket, Vag announced himself to the Parker House receptionist. When he arrived upstairs at the Scott-Hanbury suite, a somber man with an ingrown chin asked him to be seated in the entrance hall. Vag was not alone. Two familiar Cambridge faces, supported by matching neckties, were talking nearby.

"Remember," said the first face, "call them braces, not suspenders."

"Of course. What do you think of a three-piece, charcoal brown herring-bone?"

"I could never wear one," said the first face, feeling its necktie, "but it might be all right on you, although a gentleman never wears brown--unless it's tweed. I hope he lets us go in together, after he's through with the House Master."

Vag was beginning to feel out of his depth, but just then the Master came striding out of the fitting room. He was closely followed by a distinguished, but jacket-less fellow with a tape measure around his neck, and by a shorter, less distinguished man with a fitting form. The one with the form, clearly a lesser type, picked imaginary threads from the Master's suit. His more distinguished colleague handed their client a waiting umbrella and murmured that he would have the order sent on to the House.

Bowing slightly from the high waist of his striped trousers, the tailor with the tape modestly introduced himself as the Scott and Hanbury representative and asked who was next. Vag deferred. The first face, visibly impressed by the lapels on the tailor's vest, or rather waistcoat, admitted that he was next, and walked uncertainly into the fitting room.

Now that no one was talking in the entrance hall, Vag could hear the conversation inside.

"Here is a tidy worsted, sir, just 11 1/2-ounce."

"Ounce?"

"Ounces the yard, sir."

"I see . . ."

"Or perhaps a cheviot or pepper-and-salt?"

"What did the customer who just left get?"

"A blue worsted change suit, sir."

"I guess I'll get one of those."

The tension increased as they came to the measurements. The friend refolded his handkerchief.

"This shoulder seems to fall off rather faster than the other, sir."

"I . . .uh . . .slouch a bit."

"Quite normal, I'm sure, sir."

Vag's neighbour tried to flatten his shoulder against the seat.

"I don't think I want any pleats in the pants."

"'Pants,' surely, surely, you mean 'trousers,' sir?"

"I . . . yes."

"You shan't be using a belt with our suit?"

"I'll use suspend . . . uh, braces."

"Yes, sir, braces. Suspenders, rather than garters, if you will pardon the liberty, are what hold up our socks."

Vag was not even wearing garters. He made for the door, leaving a very nervous face alone behind him.