I went to the fourth counter to the left, and showed my sample to a salesman. He looked at it, and said:
“You’ll get this down on the first floor—calico department.”
I turned on my heel, descended in the elevator, and went out on the street. I was thoroughly sick of red calico. But I determined to make one more trial. My wife had bought her red calico not long before, and there must be some to be had somewhere. I ought to have asked her where she obtained it, but I thought a simple little thing like that could be bought anywhere.
I went into another large dry-goods store. As I entered the door a sudden tremor seized me. I could not bear to take out that piece of red calico. If I had had any other kind of a rag about me—a pen-wiper or anything of the sort—I think I would have asked them if they could match that.
But I stepped up to a young woman and presented my sample, with the usual question.
“Back room, counter on the left,” she said.
I went there.
“Have you any red calico like this?” I asked of the saleswoman behind the counter.
“No, sir,” she said, “but we have it in Turkey red.”
Turkey red again! I surrendered.