From the “American Tailor.”
BLUE MONDAY.
The cutter who is afraid of Monday is as miserable as his deadliest enemy could wish. Saturday the coats which he has seen tried on were all more or less faulty. One was too large, another too small; one kicked at the waist, another was too large at blade; one creased through the shoulder, another fell away from the neck; one sawed the ears and another would not cover the collar button of the shirt. He goes to bed Saturday wondering if the boss has made up his mind to give him Hail Columbia or the grand bounce. He awakes Sunday, nervous and fidgety, and feels that he would like to have some one die suddenly and leave him a fortune so that he could run away and hide his misery. At noon he thinks he may, after all, come out all right. At night he wonders how many suits will come back on the morrow, and when he sleeps he dreams of processions of angry men walking over him with misfit garments, and a disgusted employer trying to persuade him that he is a complicated idiot. Monday morning he goes to the shop reluctantly, smiles with a sickly assumption of confidence, shakes and trembles as he says “Good morning,” and wants to perform the knot hole act as the first bundle of clothing is returned. It is all right to
“Pity the sorrows of a poor old man,”
but when it comes to downright agony, we are of the opinion that the cutter who is afraid of Monday can discount the “poor old man” and is entitled to unlimited commiseration. He is miserable beyond imagination, crushed, chronically, into mental jelly, and rendered abject and ridiculous by the haunting fear of returning bundles.
The awful terrors of each Monday’s morn,
Make the poor cutter wish he were not born.
Nov. 26th, 1891, 4 p. m.
This is Thanksgiving day and I am glad I can say: This work has been finished to-day, except corrections which must yet be made. This means that I have spent most of this legal holiday by working on the manuscript of this book, and I hope that some of my fellow workmen will be benefited by it.