THE CHINESE COAT By Jennette Lee New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons 1920 TO GERALD STANLEY LEE “I take my way along the island’s edge” CONTENTS THE CHINESE COAT I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII XIV XV XVI XVII XVIII XIX XX XXI XXII XXIII XXIV XXV THE CHINESE COAT I Eleanor MORE walked away from the coat. She looked back at it across the glass case of fichus and ribbon bows, and went on down the aisle of show-cases to the coats and suits at the end. Stewart’s was having a sale of coats and suits, and Eleanor More was there—not because she could afford to buy anything, even at a sale, but because she was a woman. She had been passing the store and seen the crowd pressing in through the wide doors... She had hesitated a minute and gone in. It was nearly six o’clock now, and the crowd had thinned. Here and there a wandering figure could be seen, half ready for flight, pausing to peck at some bargain crumb; and helpers with long gray covers were appearing and shrouding the glass cases and counters for the night. The light in the shop began to seem gray and a little ghostly; out of it the gold and blue colors of the Chinese coat gleamed freshly, like a bit of Oriental flame caught in this dull sale of Western goods and held fast. Eleanor More glanced at the coat again—down through the gray-shrouded counters. Then she turned swiftly and went back. It stood by itself on its dummy figure at the end of the glass cases; in the fading light from a window above, the fantastic gold shadows of the dragons chased each other and played hazily across it. She halted before it, and half reached out her hand to it. A woman with a large bust and paper cuffs on her sleeves came drifting toward her. “Anything I can show you, madam?” Eleanor More looked up. “I was looking at this coat.” Her hand moved vaguely to the dragons. The woman’s eyes followed the gesture. “It’s a great bargain!” She put out her hand to it. “Would you like to slip it on?” Eleanor More drew back. “Oh—I wasn’t thinking of buying. I was looking. I just happened—to see it——” The woman’s hands were busy with the neck of the coat. She slipped it deftly from the lay figure and held it up. “No harm in trying,” she said. Eleanor More looked at it and drew away—and came back. She held out her hands with a little laughing gesture. “No—I cannot afford—” She put her hands into the blue sleeves with the quaint trailing ends and drew it up about her. The woman gave a little pat to the shoulders and smiled, pointing to a long mirror at the right. Eleanor More moved to the mirror; she stood looking at herself. Behind her stretched the gray counters—shrouded in for the night’s rest. Only a figure here and there was visible in the distance. Her eyes caught the empty spaces behind her. “It is late!” she said hastily. “I am keeping you!” She looked over her shoulder at the woman who seemed, in the gray light, receding dimly.