A young Scotchman, methodical, painstaking, and sincere, as so many
of
his race are, had been a bachelor of long standing. Since coming to this
country he had saved his money until now he felt he was qualified
properly to support a domestic establishment. One day he went to a
friend:
"I've about decided to get married," he said. "In fact, I'm
looking
around now for a wife."
"Where are you looking?" asked his friend.
"I'll tell you," said the Scot. "It's my belief that the girls who
work
as clerks in the big department stores here in New York are mighty fine
types.
As a rule, they are well-dressed and tidy and good-looking and have nice
ways. They must be self-reliant or they wouldn't be working. They have
to be intelligent or they couldn't hold their jobs. They know how to
make a dollar go a long distance, or they couldn't dress as well as they
do on the modest wages most of them get.
"My notion is this: On pretext of wanting to buy something, I am going
to tour the big shops until I see a girl behind a counter who seems to
fill my requirements. Then I'm going to find out her name and make
private inquiries as to her character and disposition, and if she
answers all the requirements I'll secure an introduction to her and if
she seems to like me I'm going to ask her to marry me."
Six months went by. The cautious Scot and the man to whom he had
confided his plan of campaign met again. The latter thought his friend
looked rather careworn and unhappy.
"How are you getting along."
"Well," said the Scot, "I'm a married man, if that's what you
mean."
"Well, did you follow the scheme you had in mind - I mean the one you
told me about the last time I saw you?"
"Yes. I married a girl that worked at Macy's."
"Congratulations. How's everything getting along?"
The Scot fetched a small sigh.
"Sometimes," he said, "I can't help thinking that maybe I might have
done better at Gimbels."
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