From spats to hat, from walking coat to gloves, everything was perfect of its kind.
Who ever heard of a goulash poet in a braid-bound cutaway and spats?
Squaring his shoulders, he crossed his legs and gazed inscrutably at his spats.
But they did frequently have spats, for both were hot-tempered and willful.
He had a light top-coat on his arm, and his tan gloves were an exact ...