in getting any clothes sent to him from Paris, he proposed to make a few
purchases.

It was then that he told me how he had already bought a shirt, collar,
and socks on the previous day.

'I had nothing but what I was wearing,' said he. 'I had been to
Versailles and had sat perspiring in the crowded court; then I had spent
the night travelling. I looked dirty, and I felt abominably
uncomfortable. So I go out, yesterday morning, and see a shop with
shirts, neckties, collars, and socks in the window. I go in; I take hold
of my collar, I pull down my cuffs, I tap my shirt front. The shopman
smiles; he understands me. He measures my neck; he gives me a shirt and
some collars. But then we come to the socks, and I pull up my trousers
and point to those I am wearing. He understands immediately. He is very
intelligent. He climbs his steps and pulls parcels and boxes from his
shelves.

'Here are socks of all colours, dark and light, spotted, striped, in
mixtures, in cotton, in wool, some ribbed and some with silk clockings.
But they are huge! I look at one pair; it is too big; he shows me another
and another; they are still of a larger size. Then, impatient, and
perhaps rather abruptly, I hold out my fist for the man to measure it,
and thus gauge the length of my foot as is done in Paris. But he does not
understand me. He draws back close to the shelves as if he imagines that
I want to box him. And when I again lift my foot to call his attention to
its size, he shows even greater concern. Fortunately an idea comes to me.
I take one of the mammoth socks that are lying on the counter and fold
parts of it neatly back, so as to make it appear very much smaller than
it is. Then the shopman suddenly brightens, taps his forehead, climbs his