She sat herself upon a revolving stool before a counter that was
comparatively deserted, trying to gather strength and courage to charge
through an eager multitude that was besieging breastworks of shirting
and figured lawn. An all-gone limp feeling had come over her and she
rested her hand aimlessly upon the counter. She wore no gloves. By
degrees she grew aware that her hand had encountered something very
soothing, very pleasant to touch. She looked down to see that her hand
lay upon a pile of silk stockings. A placard near by announced that they
had been reduced in price from two dollars and fifty cents to one dollar
and ninety-eight cents; and a young girl who stood behind the counter
asked her if she wished to examine their line of silk hosiery. She
smiled, just as if she had been asked to inspect a tiara of diamonds
with the ultimate view of purchasing it. But she went on feeling the
soft, sheeny luxurious things--with both hands now, holding them up
to see them glisten, and to feel them glide serpent-like through her
fingers.
Two hectic blotches came suddenly into her pale cheeks. She looked up at
the girl.
"Do you think there are any eights-and-a-half among these?"
There were any number of eights-and-a-half. In fact, there were more of
that size than any other. Here was a light-blue pair; there were some
lavender, some all black and various shades of tan and gray. Mrs.
Sommers selected a black pair and looked at them very long and closely.
She pretended to be examining their texture, which the clerk assured her
was excellent.
"A dollar and ninety-eight cents," she mused aloud. "Well, I'll take
this pair." She handed the girl a five-dollar bill and waited for her
change and for her parcel. What a very small parcel it was! It seemed
lost in the depths of her shabby old shopping-bag.
Mrs. Sommers after that did not move in the direction of the bargain
counter. She took the elevator, which carried her to an upper floor into
the region of the ladies' waiting-rooms. Here, in a retired corner, she
exchanged her cotton stockings for the new silk ones which she had just
bought. She was not going through any acute mental process or reasoning
with herself, nor was she striving to explain to her satisfaction the
motive of her action. She was not thinking at all. She seemed for the
time to be taking a rest from that laborious and fatiguing function and
to have abandoned herself to some mechanical impulse that directed her
actions and freed her of responsibility.
How good was the touch of the raw silk to her flesh! She felt like lying
back in the cushioned chair and reveling for a while in the luxury of
it. She did for a little while. Then she replaced her shoes, rolled the
cotton stockings together and thrust them into her bag. After doing this
she crossed straight over to the shoe department and took her seat to be
fitted.