University of Virginia Library

[FROM “THE FLAG OF OUR UNION.”]
BUY THE COAT THAT FITS.

BY MRS. S. P. DOUGHTY.

“It is an honest calling, wife,” said Paul
Gregory, as he shook the ashes from his pipe,
and laid it in its accustomed corner of the mantel-piece.
“An honest calling, and I have followed
it for twenty years, and my father did
the same before me.”

“The more reason you should give it up now,
husband. It is well enough to stick to one
trade until you see your way clear to do something
better; but I suppose you have no particular
fancy for having your sons and grandsons
follow in the same beaten track. On their account
I wish you to engage in some business a
little more respectable than that of a milkman.”

“It is an honest calling, as I told you before,
wife, and as respectable a business as can be
found in the country. I should like to hear any
one say it is not respectable.”

“We wont quarrel about words, Paul.
Keeping a milk farm and driving the milk cart
yourself, are certainly not the most genteel mode
of earning a living. I never said a word while
we could afford nothing better, but now we have
Uncle George's legacy, I think it our duty to
try to rise a peg higher in the world.”

“Three thousand dollars will not do everything,
Mary, but if you like, I will hire a hand
to drive the cart, and I will attend to things at
home a little more. And I will build a new
barn, and you may have the addition to the
house that you have talked of so long.”

“And so spend all our money in improving
this old place where we may remain buried alive
all our days? No, no. Paul Gregory, I have a
wiser plan than that to propose to you.”

“And what may it be, Mary? I am all
ready to listen to it,” and like a dutiful husband,
Paul turned his pleasant, sunburnt face toward
his wife and placed himself in an attitude of attention.

“The truth is, husband, I am tired of living
so out of the world. I do not want to scald the
milk cans and fill them with milk all my life,
nor to have my daughters grow up to do it for
me. I feel ready for something better.”

“Very well, wife. Now tell us what is better.”

“Sell the farm, Paul, or rent it at a fair price,
and invest Uncle George's three thousand in
buying goods to stock a little shop which we

will open in the city,—a thread and needle store
for instance. My friend, Mrs. Mason, thinks
we would do very well at that. She has made
money since she commenced the business.”

“Thread and needle store! Is the woman
crazy?” ejaculated the astonished Paul Gregory;
and as if at a loss how to give vent to his feelings,
he refilled the pipe and whiffed away most
vigorously.

“Well,” continued the persevering wife, “I
am not particular about that, if something else
suits you better. A small dry goods store
would answer, or a hat store, or—in fact almost
any kind of a store you can mention.”

“Who do you expect to attend to it?” condescended
the husband, slightly relaxing his efforts
at the pipe.

“You would, of course, have the superintendence.
I have no time to spare from the children.
James is old enough to assist you. You
will lead an easy life to what you do now, husband.”

“But do you not see, wife, that it would be
like taking a fish out of the water and expecting
him to live and thrive upon dry land!
What do I know about tending a store? I can
drive my milk cart merrily enough, and I am
as good a judge of cattle as you will find in a
day's journey, and a tolerable farmer besides;
but this is all that can be said of Paul Gregory.
Put him behind the counter with a yard stick in
his hand, and the cows themselves might laugh.”

But Mrs. Gregory was not at all dismayed at
the conclusiveness of this speech. She had set
her heart upon carrying her point, and long experience
had taught her that much might be accomplished
by patience and perseverance.

In fact, Paul Gregory was not one of those
stubborn men who pride themselves upon never
yielding to the influence of their wives. He
often said good humoredly that Mary could
wind him round her little finger if she chose,
and so it proved in this case. Ere three months
had elapsed, the old homestead was rented, and
the whole family of Gregories, great and small,
were snugly established in a tolerably comfortable
house in a close, confined street of the city.
A great change it was from the fresh air and
green fields of the country. The wife said they
should like it well enough when they got used
to it, but the husband shook his head mournfully
as if implying it would be long before that time
would arrive. The younger members of the
family, who were thus suddenly cut off from all
their childish pleasures, were full of lamentations
and entreaties to return. But there they
were, and there, also, was a smart looking sign
informing the passer-by that Paul Gregory, who
had lately driven his milk cart through that very
street at the earliest dawn of day, had now
arrived at the dignity of selling ready-made
clothing to whoever might wish to become a
purchaser.

This particular branch of business was Paul's
own choice. “If I must keep shop, give me
something that I can handle,” he said. “None
of your tapes and ribbons for me.” He would
have preferred a grocery, but Mrs. Gregory was
quite decided for something in the dry goods
line, and after much discussion the ready-made
clothing was decided upon.

The amount of their funds would not permit
them to commence on a very extensive scale or
in a very eligible situation, but then, as Mrs.
Gregory justly observed, they must be willing to
creep before they could walk; and as to the
street being a retired one, there were plenty of
people in it, and there was no reason why there
should not be good shops. So the place was
taken, and after the preliminary steps of washing
windows, serubbing floors, and arranging the
new goods, the window shutters, were duly unfastened
at an early hour every morning, and the
door left invitingly open, as if to attract attention
to the neat arrangement within.

For some weeks there appeared little prospect
that there would be anything more than
this to do. There had been some half dozen
customers, it is true, but in some cases the articles
did not suit, and in others the purchases
were of trifling value. Poor Paul Gregory! It
was a new life for him. Accustomed from his
childhood to business of an active nature, it
seemed dull work to sit with his feet on the
counter, hour after hour, with nothing to diversify
the scene, save an occasional visit from his
own children, who found their chief amusement
in standing in the shop door and watching what
was passing in the street. Sometimes it is true
his wife peeped in by way of consolation, and
inquired if there had been any customers, and
in answer to Paul's melancholy negative, reminded
him that there was nothing like patience
it was always darkest just before day, and other
equally consolatory adages, which, however,
had, by being oft repeated, lost their effect.

In this situation, his favorite pipe would have
been a great comfort; but Mrs. Gregory who,

to her credit be it spoken, strongly disapproved
of the use of the noxious weed, had insisted that
at least, the pipe must remain at the old place,
and cigars be substituted instead, they being, as
she observed, more genteel and suitable for
people who were rising in the world. The
husband submitted. How could he do otherwise?
but the pipe was an old friend and its
memory was cherished with that of many other
friends who appeared to belong to days gone by,
and he was reluctant to give it up.

Summer succeeded spring and autumn followed
summer. Prospects had brightened a little.
This was the time of year for doing business.
New goods were purchased, and old ones sold
cheap or packed away, to re-appear at some future
time. Every day saw its customers now,
not many to be sure, but enough for encouragement,
as hopeful Mrs. Gregory said.

But now that custom was increasing, Paul's
inexperience as a salesman became more strikingly
manifest. He had done well enough to sit
in his chair and keep the shop from running
away, but selling goods was a different concern,
as he was well aware.

The wife, who from a snug little room at the
back of the shop which might justly have been
termed her observatory, had a careful eye to all
that was passing, was in despair and not without
reason. If a garment was inquired for, it was
exhibited: If approved, it was handed to the
purchaser with as much indifference as if it had
been a quart of milk. If it did not suit, no effort
was made to present it in a more favorable
light; the seller often agreed with the buyer
that he might do better, “that it was not exactly
the thing.”

Paul Gregory prided himself upon his honesty.
“No tricks in trade,” for him. “Honest
gains,” had ever been his maxim, and that of
his father before him. When this last clause
was added, it was of no use to contend for that
time at least, and Mrs. Gregory always became
silent. Scenes like the following were continually
occurring.

“Have you a good warm overcoat of my fit,
Mr. Gregory?” inquired a brisk, business-like
looking man, entering the little shop with a
quick step and a hurried air. “I am just off on
a journey, and the air seems so keen that I believe
it is time for an outer garment. The one
that I wore last winter is pretty shabby.”

“I have one which will just suit you, I believe,
sir,” and Paul moved about with uncommon
alacrity, for the door of the observatory
was heard to jar slightly, indicating that the
watchful Mrs. Gregory was within.

A handsome, well-made coat was produced,
and was evidently viewed with satisfaction by
the intended purchaser.

“Exactly the thing, if it only fits!” he exclaimed,
as he drew it on. “What is the
price?”

“Twenty dollars.”

“Cheap at that—but how does it look? rather
large, is it not?”

“Too large altogether!” frankly replied Paul.
(Here the door shook violently.) “Perhaps I
have one that will suit you better.”

But the quality of those now presented was
not approved.

“This is precisely what I want,” repeated the
gentleman, turning once more to the one first
exhibited, “if it would only fit, and after all, it
does not appear to be much out of the way.
How does the back look?”

“Badly,” was the quiet reply. “A large
wrinkle across the shoulders.”

“Well then, I suppose I must go back to the
shop above. I saw one there that fitted me exactly,
but the color was not the shade I wanted.
But I must have one without delay, for the cars
leave in half an hour.”

“Buy the one that fits, by all means, sir,”
returned honest Paul. “A little difference in
color is not to be thought of in comparison with
the fit.”

“Have you been in the business long, my
friend?” asked the disappointed purchaser, as
he turned from the desired coat.

“Some six months only,” was the reply.

“I thought you were a new hand at it. And
if you will take it kindly, I will give you the
same advice that you have just given me. `Buy
the coat that fits.' Your present employment
does not suit you. The appearance of it may
seem more pleasing than that you were formerly
engaged in, whatever that may have been, but
it does not fit, and that is the main thing, as you
have justly observed.”

The stranger left the shop before Paul could
reply, but his words had made an impression
that could not easily be effaced. True, he had
known it all before, but it is pleasant to hear our

own opinions confirmed by others. It often
gives strength for action, and sustains us in combating
difficulties.

“Buy the coat that fits,” repeated Paul, and
the words seemed to comfort him even while listening
to the remonstrances of his wife, who
emerging from her hiding-place, expostulated on
the extreme folly he had shown in the case of
the overcoat.

The husband listened with his usual patience,
but the expression of his countenance was different
from usual, as he replied: “Never mind,
wife, I am going to wake up now and do a
good business. You will see how the coat will
fit.” This last clause was lost upon Mrs. Gregory,
for she was already making her retreat as
another customer entered.

It would have been difficult to have learned
from Paul Gregory what had been sold that day,
or at what price the goods had been disposed of.
“Some great change had come over him,” his
wife observed, and indeed, his demeanor was
very different from usual, or from what it had
been of late. He whistled lively airs, chatted
gaily with his wife, frolicked with the children,
and asked them how the city air agreed with
them, laughing immoderately at the reply of a
smart little girl of six, “that there was no air in
the city—that she had not felt any since she
came from home.”

Toward evening, Paul announced his intention
of going to take a look at the old place, as
quarter-day was coming, and he wished to see
if there was a good prospect of getting the rent.
Mrs. Gregory made no objection, for ready
money had been scaree of late, and she was glad
to hear that there was some in prospect. “James
could tend the shop well enough for the evening,”
she said.

It was wonderful how Paul's cheerfulness increased
after his return from the farm. He assured
his wife that everything was in prime
order, but they were likely to lose their tenant
soon, as he had taken the California fever.

Mrs. Gregory appeared somewhat concerned
at this, but her husband assured her it was of no
consequence. He had already received an application.
For two weeks all went on as usual,
and then came another visit to the farm.

“Do not be anxious about me if I stay late,
Mary,” said Paul to his wife, as he left the house.
“I may visit some of our old friends this even
ing, and it is a long distance to come. Go to
bed, and I will come in when I am ready,” he
added, with a merry twinkle of the eye, as if he
had some queer plot in view.

Unsuspicious Mrs. Gregory obeyed, and quite
unaware of her husband's prolonged absence,
slept soundly, until at early dawn the shrill cry of
the milkman disturbed her slumbers, and started
her from the land of dreams.

“Is it possible it is so late?” she exclaimed,
springing hastily to her feet. “And where is
Mr. Gregory? The loud summons of the milkman
was repeated, and their maid of all work,
for some unknown reason, answered it not.
Hastily throwing on a wrapper, Mrs. Gregory
descended, and with pitcher in hand unfastened
the door. There stood a well known horse and
cart, and a well known voice, even that of her
own husband, bade her a cheerful good-morning,
and requested to know if he might have the
pleasure of serving her with milk.

“What nonsense is this, Paul Gregory?” she
exclaimed, quite aghast with surprise and
vexation.

“No nonsense at all, wife. Sound common
sense. I have bought the coat that fits, and am
a milkman once more. If you like to keep on
with the shop, you are welcome to do so. I
will call on you every morning and attend to
your wants so far as I can without neglecting
my own business. Or if you prefer coming back
to the old place, you will find me there alone,
and ready to give you a hearty welcome,” he rejoined,
while a good-humored smile threw its
genial beams across his sunburnt countenance,
and revelled there.

The milk cart was rattling merrily down the
street before Mrs. Gregory had sufficiently recovered
herself to reply. Almost mechanically, she
set down the milk pitcher and returned to her
own room to dress, and attend to her usual
morning duties. Throughout that long day she
said but little, but thoughts were busy.

Several days passed away. Every morning
the milk cart came rattling to the door, and regularly
did Mrs. Gregory answer to the call.
None knew what took place in these interviews,
but ere long the observing neighbors noticed that
the new clothing store was to let, and soon after
this announcement, Paul Gregory, a new man,
now that he had resumed his old coat, was seen
actively superintending the removal of furniture,

and most carefully assisting his wife and children
into the comfortable looking carryall, which was
to convey them once more to the old place, and
there to renew the cherished scenes of their former
quiet country life.

Another week, and it seemed almost like a
dream, that they had ever left it. The children
whose returning roses showed that they had found
their home, were full of delight—the father, smiling
with contentment, resumed his pipe when the
labors of the day were over, and declared himself
a happy man once more; while good Mrs.
Gregory assiduously scalded the milk cans with
cheerful zeal, and, yielding to the happiness
around her, declared that after all there was
nothing like wearing a coat that fits.