Mr. Hopps earned the ill-will of the Glen for ever by criticising
the doctor's dress, but indeed it would have filled any townsman with
amazement. Black he wore once a year, on sacrament Sunday, and, if
possible, at a funeral; top-coat or water-proof never. His jacket and
waistcoat were rough homespun of Glen Urtach wool, which threw off
the wet like a duck's back, and below he was clad in shepherd's tartan
trousers, which disappeared into unpolished riding-boots. His shirt was
gray flannel, and he was uncertain about a collar, but certain as to a
tie,--which he never had, his beard doing instead,--and his hat was
soft felt of four colours and seven different shapes. His point of
distinction in dress was the trousers, and they were the subject of
unending speculation.
"Some threep that he's worn thae eedentical pair the last twenty year,
an' a mind masel' him getting' a tear ahint, when he was crossin' oor
palin', an the mend's still veesible.
"Ithers declare 'at he's got a wab o' claith, and hes a new pair made in
Muirtown aince in the twa year maybe, and keeps them in the garden till
the new look wears aff.
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