At lunch-time I stopped in at a large dry-goods store to attend to my wife’s commission. I saw a well-dressed man walking the floor between the counters, where long lines of girls were waiting on much longer lines of customers, and asked him where I could see some red calico.
“This way, sir.” And he led me up the store. “Miss Stone,” said he to a young lady, “show this gentleman some red calico.”
“What shade do you want?” asked Miss Stone.
I showed her the little piece of calico that my wife had given me. She looked at it and handed it back to me. Then she took down a great roll of red calico and spread it out on the counter.
“Why, that isn’t the shade!” said I.
“No, not exactly,” said she; “but it is prettier than your sample.”
“That may be,” said I; “but, you see, I want to match this piece. There is something already made of this kind of calico which needs to be enlarged or mended or something. I want some calico of the same shade.”
The girl made no answer, but took down another roll.
“That’s the shade,” said she.
“Yes,” I replied, “but it’s striped.”