“I want a—an outfit; a personal outfit.”
“Blanket to moccasins? Levi’s, stranger. Levi’ll outfit you complete and throw in a yellow purp under the wagon.”
“And where is Levi’s?”
“There.” And he jerked his head aside. “You could shut your eyes and spit in the doorway.” 89
With that he rudely turned his back upon me. But sure enough, by token of the large sign “Levi’s Mammoth Emporium: Liquors, Groceries and General Merchandise,” I was standing almost in front of the store itself.
I entered, into the seething aisle flanked by heaped-up counters and stacked goods that bulged the partially boarded canvas walls. At last I gained position near one of the perspiring clerks and caught his eye.
“Yes, sir. You, sir? What can I do for you, sir?” He rubbed his hands alertly, on edge with a long day.
“I wish a hat, flannel shirt, a serviceable ready-made suit, boots, possibly other matters.”
“We have exactly the things for you, sir. This way.”
“Going out on the advance line, sir?” he asked, while I made selections.