I was going into town one morning from my suburban residence, when my wife handed me a little piece of red calico, and asked me if I would have time, during the day, to buy her two yards and a half of calico like that. I assured her that it would be no trouble at all; and putting the sample in my pocket, I took the train for the city. In the preface to the collection of Frank R. Stockton’s stories that contains this one (A Chosen Few: Short Stories, hosted at Project Gutenberg), the editors remark that Stockton’s story [Read More]