I assured her that it would be no trouble at all, and
putting the piece of calico in my pocket, I took the train for
the city.
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 in my house, made of this kind
of calico, which needs to be made larger, 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."
"Stripes are more worn than anything else in calicoes," said
she.
"Yes. But this isn't to be worn. It's for furniture, I
think. At any rate, I want perfectly plain stuff, to match
something already in use.
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