"Will you come back a minute, please?"
The words were so polite that for the first few seconds the boy was not alarmed. A lady was speaking, a lady like any other lady, unless it was that her manner was quieter, more forceful, more sure of itself, than he was accustomed to among women. But what he never forgot during all the rest of his life was the look on his mother's face. As he came to analyze it later it was one of inner surrender. She had come to the point which she had long foreseen as her objective. She had reached the end. But in spite of surrender, and though she grew bloodlessly pale, she was still determined to show fight.
"What do you want me for?"
"If you'll step this way I'll tell you."
"I don't know that I care to do that. I'm going home."
"You'd better come quietly. You won't gain anything by making a fuss."
A second lady, also forceful and sure of herself, having joined them they pushed their way back through the throng. At the glove counter a place was made for them. The saleswoman was beckoned to. The woman who had stopped them at the door continued to take the lead.
"Now, will you show us what you've got in your muff?"
She produced the mittens. "Yes, I have got these. I bought and paid for them."
The saleswoman gave her account of the incident. Women shoppers gathered round. Floorwalkers came up.