he looked thoughtfully at the toe of his boot. Then coming suddenly to a
decision he disappeared stealthily into the back premises, from which
he presently emerged carrying a large bale of flannel, which he cast
caber-wise upon the counter.

"There," he said triumphantly, "I don't suppose there's another piece of
flannel like that in the country." He fingered it with an expert touch.

"You don't say so," I said as I rubbed it reverently between my finger
and thumb, just to show that he wasn't the only one who could do it.

"I'm afraid it's only too true," he confessed, "and I may add that,
after we have sold out our present stocks, flannel of any kind will be
absolutely unobtainable."

"None at all?" I asked, horror-struck at the vision of my public life in
1920--a bow cravat over a double-width vestum.

He shook his head and smiled wisely.

I am instinctively against hoarding, but I knew that if I did not buy it
Jones would, and then some fine day, when nobody else had a shirt left,
he would swagger about and make my life intolerable. This decided me and
I bought the piece.

A few days later it occurred to me that it might be advisable to lay
down some socks. My idea was in perfect unison with that of my hosier
and haberdasher. Socks were going to be unprocurable in a few months. I
patted myself on the back and bought up the 1916 vintage of Llama-Llama
footwear. The following week thirty-seven shirts arrived and I had to