# St. Nicholas/Volume 32/Number 3/Lucy's Shopping

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Lucy’s Shopping
By Frances Bent Dillingham.
“Please get a paper and pencil, William, and write it down. You had better go to Saunder’s first, and then to Blackett’s.”
Mr. Gordon bent over the table, an old envelop next a medicine-glass, he wrote it down with the stump of a pencil.
“I wish Lucy could wait until I can go and get it with her, I know just what I want. But the doctor says it will be two weeks before I can get out, and the child might get her death o’ cold if we wait. I want a brown coat, William, just a little below the skirt of her dress—with a cape. You had better write it down, William. Don’t get the first thing you see, and—I want a cap for her, a pretty brown tam-o’-shanter to match the coat. Write it down, please. How much money have you?”
Mr. Gordon produced a small roll of bills, and spread out seven dollars.
“Oh, William, is that all! Nevermind, dear; I know you had to get some medicine Saturday night, and—other things. But Lucy has n’t had a winter coat for three years and she does need one—perhaps you will find a bargain, You can wear your new coat home, Lucy, and you help papa buy it.”
Lucy, in happy anticipation of their shopping-trip, sat in the trolley-car which was carrying her downtown, with her father reading his newspaper at her side.
“Your mother said Saunders’s first,” said Mr. Gordon as they finally alighted from the car and entered the great department-store.
“I wish to look at cloaks,” said Lucy’s father to a floor-walker.
“Second floor, please; elevator to the right.”
As they stepped out of the elevator Lucy was a little breathless at the sudden stop, and her small mittened hand closed tightly around her father’s large, cold, red one. He stood looking about a moment, as if a little, a very little, in doubt. Then a queenly creature swept up to them—a young woman with her waist very long in front, and her hair very high and then far down over her left eyebrow; there was a rustle of silk, a waft of perfume, as she approached, Lucy was sure this was a princess; she looked up in admiring awe as the princess, with chin high and lowered eyelids, asked:
“What do you wish to see?”
Lucy’s father, too, was awed by the royal bearing of the princess. He knew his errand was a proper one—he had almost felt it was a noble one; but now he stammered: “Ah—er—coats, if you please, for my little girl.”
“This way, please,” said the princess, “About what price, may I ask?”
“Ah—er—well, I don’t know,” Lucy's father said weakly. Have you anything for five dollars?”
“We have something for six and a half, marked down from ten,” said the princess.
Lucy’s father looked so helpless that Lucy nudged him. “Let ’s look at it, papa.”
“I ’ll show you what we have,” condescended the young woman; and Lucy and her father ​at a safe distance trailed sadly and respectfully after their guide.
She went to a table piled high with garments, “Here ‘s one for six and a half.” She disentangled from a motley assortment a bright blue coat and held it up before them.
“That ’s pretty,” said Lucy’s father, his face lighting with relief. “How much is it?”
“Only six and a half, marked down from ten. Would you like ta try it on?”
“Try it on, Lucy.”
“It is n’t brown, papa,” whispered Lucy.
“Oh, that 's so. Have n't you any brown ones?” He spoke to the princess in his politest tones.
“Nothing so cheap. We have a few brown ones like that on the form over there, marked down from fifteen to ten. It’s a great bargain, if you ’re willing to pay so much.”
It was not a question of willingness, though Lucy’s father did not say so. In spite of Lucy’s whisper, “It’s like what mama wanted—with a cape,” he shook his head.
“Six and a half is all I can pay.”
“Well, this is the best style in the cheaper coats. These blues are going to be worn a good deal this winter. Shall I try it on her?”
“It ’s long,” objected Lucy, feebly. It hung almost to the floor; her dress-skirt was but a little below her knees.
“You can wear it several seasons if you get it long enough,” said the princess.
The face of Lucy’s father lighted again, “That ’s a good idea, Lucy,”
“The sleeves are so big and long!” Lucy could not see her fingers below as she looked down on her sleeves.
“But mama said the other sleeves were too short, Lucy. It’s a good thing to have sleeves long.”
“Yes, it’s always a good thing to have coats a little large,” said the princess, “All our customers buy children’s garments a little large. Children grow so rapidly, you know.”
“It is n’t brown,” said Lucy, vaguely feeling that something was wrong with her dark little face above the bright blue.
“It’s a pretty color,” said Lucy’s father, who could not help thinking that a long coat would last for several winters, and coats were expensive.
“Do you like it, Lucy?” asked her father,
“It's very good style, very,” said the princess. She smoothed it down in front and pulled it up behind, and turned Lucy around and around before the glass.
“Perhaps we ’d better take it, Lucy,” said the father.
“Will you have it sent or take it with you?” said the princess, with a sweet smile that warmed Lucy’s doubtful litle heart.
“I ’ll have her wear it, and you can send this one.” He handed her Lucy’s old coat, and in a few moments a man in a short light coat was seen leading down the aisle a little girl in a very long blue one.
“Oh, papa,” said Lucy as they reached the ground floor, mama said not to buy the first thing we saw.”
Her father’s face fell. “Don ’t you think she ‘ll like this?” he asked. “And it will last a long time.” Lucy sighed.
“It is n’t brown and it has n’t got a cape,” she said.
“Well, we ‘ll get a brown hat, anyhow,” comforted her father,
It did not take long to select a brown tam-o’-shanter, which contrasted oddly with the bright blue coat. As they went downstairs and past the candy counter, Lucy’s father stopped; for one wild moment Lucy actually hoped he was going to buy her some candy. But that delightful and unheard-of possibility was soon dispelled, for did not six dollars and a half for the coat and fifty cents for the cap make seven dollars? Then her father said:
“Will you wait here, Lucy, till I go down to the store and get some more money? I have n't even car-fare for your trip home. But I ’ll be back in a little while. The store ’s not far away. You don’t mind waiting, do you?”
Oh, no, Lucy did not mind waiting; and her father left a strange little blue-coated, brown-capped figure standing near the tempting candy counter. But very soon Lucy’s thoughts were taken up by something other than the candy. A young woman went by with rustling skirts, a silver bag at her side, a long white floating feather boa, and two long white feathers in her hat. The glories of the princess upstairs paled beside her. Lucy could not resist the tempta-​tion to follow after her. There was a silk counter not far distant, The wonderful lady stopped while the polite clerk unfolded yard after yard of shimmering silk. At last he measured off a great glowing heap, and the lady paid for it from a fat roll of bills extracted from her silver bag. Then, followed by the admiring gaze of the clerks and the patter of Lucy's shabby little shoes, she swept to the lace counter.
“‘It’s long’ objected Lucy, feebly.”
Such a consolation was this after the shabby shopping of Lucy’s father! Wherever the lady went—to the gloves and ribbons and scarfs—Lucy was sure to go, a little figure in a bright blue coat that flapped loosely and emptily from knee to ankle and almost tripped up her eager little feet. Once the lady turned and gave the bright face beneath the brown tam-o’-shanter a cold stare. At last the lady started for the door, a side entrance in a quiet corner of the store with only an unattended blanket counter near and a row of smaller doors at the side with ground-glasspanels, marked “Manager’s Office.” As the lady swept through the door to the street, something floated back and away from her to the dusty floor. Lucy darted after and picked it up. It was the long feather boa, so soft and white and sweet-smelling! For a moment Lucy forgot all else, holding it in her little mittened hands. Then, as she stepped forward to go after the lady, still looking at the lovely thing, somebody swooped down and snatched it away from her.
“What do you mean by taking my feather boa?” cried the lady’s voice in her ears—such a shrill voice! Lucy’s red lips parted in surprise as she stared up at her. Then from somewhere a man appeared and laid his hand on her shoulder.
“What is it?” he asked.
“This child has followed me about all the ​morning, and just now she slipped my feather boa off my neck and was going to make off with it. I ’ve no doubt she ’s a shoplifter. You 'd better search her.
Fortunately, Lucy had no idea what these words meant. She only stared bewildered at the man.
“Were you trying to steal this lady’s boa?” the man asked.
Then Lucy burst into tears. “I just picked it up off the floor,” she wailed; “the lady dropped it.”
“Where did you get that hat and coat?” asked the man, sternly.
But Lucy did not hear him—she was sobbing too loudly. One of the smaller doors clicked behind them.
“What ’s this disturbance, Mr. Jones?” asked a crisp, quick voice. “I can’t have this here. Step into the office. Now what’s the matter?”
Lucy found herself in a small room, with the lady of the feather boa on one side, and a man behind and before.
“Oh, it’s nothing of any consequence, Mr. Saunders; I should n’t carry it any further, only, of course, I thought your people ought to know if there were shoplifters about.”
“Oh, Miss Trenton, I beg pardon—I didn’t recognize you, Is it this child? Did she take anything of yours?”
“Well, not exactly, because I caught her. But she has been following me ever since I came in the store, and she was making off with my feather boa—”
“I picked it up!” wailed Lucy. “It dropped on the floor. When I was going to give it to her, she just snatched it out of my hands.”
“Please be seated.” Mr, Saunders sat down himself and drew Lucy toward him “Now listen to me, little girl. Nobody is going to hurt you, but you must n’t cry, for I want you to tell me everything you have been doing since you came downtown with your father.”
As Lucy winked away her tears and looked up at him, she recognized a gentleman she had seen seated opposite to her father in the car that morning. She fixed her round, moist eyes on his face, and something she saw there gave her courage to begin in a weak little voice:
“My father came to buy me a coat, because mama was sick, and she liked a brown one, but we had to buy a blue one that was six and a half because the lady said it’s a stylish color. And when he ’d paid fifty cents for my tam-o’-shanter he had to go down to the store to get some more money, because that makes seven dollars and it was all he had. So I was waiting, and this—lady—”her chin quivered before she went on—“went by, so I thought I ’d go shopping with her, because she bought such pretty things and we— She bought lots, Then, when I was going back to the candy counter to meet papa, her feathers fell off, and—and I was going to give it to her— but here the little voice failed.
“I am afraid, Miss Trenton, we owe an apology to this little girl,” said Mr. Saunders, quietly.
“I ’m sure I hope so.” Miss Trenton rose, torn between the desire not to offend Mr. Saunders and the hope of maintaining her own dignity. She smiled in a superior way on Lucy. “I ’m sorry I hurt your feelings, little girl. Good-by.” ‘She extended her slim, gloved hand to Lucy. Ten minutes ago it would have been bliss to feel its smoothness; now Lucy would as soon have touched a red-hot stove. She retreated behind Mr. Saunders as Mr. Jones opened the door for the lady.
Mr. Saunders smiled. “Oh, yes, it ’s all right, Miss Trenton. I ’m sorry we gave the child such a fright.” He did not seem to see the hand which Lucy had rejected, as he bowed the lady out. “You may go, Mr. Jones,” he said, nodding to the salesman.
“Now we must go and meet your father,” said Mr. Saunders to Lucy, “and he must n’t know you ’ve been crying.” Lucy was struggling to wipe her eyes with her handkerchief; but her coat-sleeve was so long that it got into her eyes instead. She looked up at him with a quivering smile. He took off his glasses and began to polish them.
“Do you like that coat?” he asked abruptly, but in so friendly a way that Lucy felt she could trust in him, and was no longer afraid.
“No, sir, not very well; but they all say it will last a long time. Mama wanted a brown one with a cape, but it was ten dollars. Do you think she ‘ll be disappointed?— and it ’s very long.” She opened it in front and showed her ​short dress-skirt and the round little legs, till then quite covered by the coat. “Mama said to the bottom of my dress; my father says I ’ll grow to it, but he is n’t much of a shopper.”
“‘I ’m sorry I hurt your feelings, little girl. Good-by.’”
Mr. Saunders stood with his hands in his pockets, studying the effect of his ready-made goods on this purchaser.
“Well, let ’s go meet him,” he said, Lucy led him to the comer of the candy counter, but her papa was not there, It had not been so very long since he had left, though so much had happened.
“I guess we ’ll have time to go upstairs,” said Mr. Saunders, and Lucy pushed her little mittened hand into his. The coat-sleeve was so long that it covered both their hands, and he looked down with twinkling eyes.
“I did n’t mean to say,” explained Lucy, ​“that papa was a bad shopper; he ’d do better if he had more money.”
“Oh, yes, I understand,” said Mr, Saunders. “Now show me the girl you bought the coat of.”
“Oh, it was n’t a girl,” said Lucy; “it was—a—a—lady! There she is now.”
Mr, Saunders walked up to her. Lucy was amazed at the mild gentleness of the princess—indeed, she scarcely seemed a princess now,
“Did you sell this coat?” he asked.
“Yes, sir, It is one of those we have had so long in stock. Mr. Chase is very anxious to work them off.” “‘I do believe that is the kind your mother wanted.’”
Mr. Saunders noticed the brown coat on the form. “Is that the one you liked?” he asked.
Lucy nodded. “But it’s ten dollars,” she whispered, tugging his hand.
“Take it down and put it on her, please,” said Mr. Saunders, commanding the now obedient princess. Lucy stood motionless while the brown coat was being tried on.
He watched her as she walked to the mirror.
“What do you think of that?” Mr. Saunders asked the lady.
“Oh, that ’s very much better, of course; only they said they could n’t pay much, and we wanted to get rid of those blues. If I’d known they were friends of yours—”
“Well, how do you like it?” he asked, as Lucy backed into him, too delighted to remove her eyes from her mirrored figure.
“I know mama ’d like it,” she whispered.
“Well, then, if you think your father would n’t object, suppose we take it.”
“But it’s ten dollars, and papa said he could n’t pay any more than six and a half”
“This has just been marked down to six and a half” said Mr. Saunders with a smile, and then, with a word or two to the princess, he led Lucy back to the candy counter.
“Oh!” gasped Lucy, “is this for me?” as the girl at the candy counter reached out to her a white-papered box tied up with a silvery string.
“Yes, child, yes,” said Mr. Saunders. “Don’t look so frightened. And now I ’ll say good-by, for I think I see your father.”
“Oh, yes; there he is—thank you, thank you so much! Why, he’s gone! Here, papa; here I am! Oh, papa, that gentleman changed my coat, but this one costs just the same. It’s marked down to six and a half.”
Lucy’s father was staring at her. “What did you say, Lucy?”
“My coat, papa! This is n’t the one you bought. But it’s brown with a cape, and I ’m sure it ’s the kind that mama wanted. Look at that paper you wrote it down on, and see.”
Lucy’s father thrust his hand into all the pockets of his short light overcoat, then into the inner pockets—but he could not find the old envelop.
“It seems as if everything 1 find is a bill,” he said, smiling apologetically. “I must have left that envelop at home, But that coat does seem more becoming to you than the other. I do believe that is the kind your mother wanted.”
“Why, of course it is, papa!” cried Lucy.
And it was.