If there is one thing I do dislike, it is to go into a draper’s shop.  To my mind, it is not a man’s business at all; it is one essentially feminine.  I have never been able to reconcile, myself to the troublesome formalities one has to go through in these marts of female finery; there seems to be no such thing as to pop inside for a trifling article, lay down your money for it, and get away again.  No; the system of trade pursued at such establishments is undoubtedly to get you to sit down, with leisure to look about you, and coax you into buying things you don’t want.

Years ago, when I was living in lonely lodgings, I had occasion one Saturday night to slip into the nearest draper’s shop for some pins.  “I only want a farthing’s worth of pins,” I observed, apologetically, to the bald-headed shopwalker who pounced down upon me.  “Please to step this way.”  To my astonishment he marched me to the extreme end of the shop, thence through an opening in the side wall, past another long double row of dames and damsels of all sorts and sizes making purchases, and finally referred me to a young lady whose special function in life seemed to consist in selling pins to adventurous young gentlemen like myself.  She was an extremely good looking young lady too, and I felt considerably embarrassed at the insignificance of my purchase.  “And the next thing, please?” she asked, during the wrapping-up process.  I informed her, as politely as I could, that I did not require anything more.

“Gloves, handkerchiefs, collars, shirts, neckties—?”

“No thank you,” I returned, “I only came in for the pins.”  But I was not to be let off so easily.

Utterly ignoring the humble penny that I had laid down on the counter, she showed me samples of almost everything in the shop suitable for male wear.  Blushing to the roots of my hair, I implored her to spare herself further trouble, as my wardrobe was already extensive.  Then she showed me a sample silk umbrella.  I was unwilling to rush away abruptly from the presence of such a charming young lady, but she provoked me to it; indeed, I was only prevented from carrying out my design by my failure to discern the hole in the wall through which I had been inveigled into that department.  “If you would be so good as to give me my change,” I stammered out, feeling heartily ashamed at the thought of wanting the change at all.  “Certainly sir.”  Then she proceeded to make out the bill.  “Oh, never mind about the bill,” I said, “I’m rather in a hurry.”  Of this appeal she took no notice.  “Sign, please,” she said to the young lady at her elbow.  “Pins, one farthing,” she added to my utter confusion.  The second young lady made a wild flourish over the bill with her pencil and turned away.  My fair tormentor slowly wrapped my penny in the bill, screwed up the whole inside a large wooden ball, jerked a dangling cord at her elbow, then stood looking me straight in the face as the ball went rolling along a set of