The young man was delighted, and he went to a store to buy a nice corset.
"What size do you want?" asked the girl who waited on him.
That was a puzzler. He didn't know they came in sizes. He was about to
tell her to pick out the smallest size, when he happened to think of
something.
"Take a tape measure and measure my arm; that will just fit."
The girl looked wise as though she had been there herself, found that it
was a twenty-two inch corset the boy wanted, and he went home and wrote a
note and sent it with the corset to the girl. He didn't hear anything
about it till the following Sunday, when he called on her. She received
him coldly, and handed him the corset, saying, with a tear in her eye,
that she had never expected to be insulted by him. He told her he had no
intention of insulting her; that he could think of nothing that would
cause her to think of the gentle pressure of his arm around her waist but
a corset, but if she felt insulted he would take his leave, give
the corset to some poor family, and go drown himself.
He was about to go away, when she burst out crying, and sobbed out the
following words, wet with salt brine.
"It was v-v-v-very thoughtful of y-y-you, but I _couldn't feel it_! It is
f-f-four sizes too b-b-big! Why didn't you get number eight? You are
silent, you cannot answer, enough?"
[Illustration: "IT IS F-F-FOUR SIZES TOO B-B-BIG."]
They instinctively found their way to the sofa; mutual explanation
followed; he measured her waist again; saw where he had made a mistake by
his fingers lapping over on the first turn, and he vowed, by the beard of
the prophet, he would change it for another, if she had not worn it and
got it soiled. They are better now.