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wide. But oh God, the feel of that fur! And those huge wide sleeves with their thick turned-up cuffs! Who was it had once told her that they always used female skins for the arms and male skins for the rest of the coat? Someone had told her that. Joan Rutfield, probably; though how
Joan
would know anything about
mink
she couldn’t imagine.
    The great black coat seemed to slide on to her almost of its own accord, like a second skin. Oh boy! It was the queerest feeling! She glanced into the mirror. It was fantastic. Her whole personality had suddenly changed completely. She looked dazzling, radiant, rich, brilliant, voluptuous, all at the same time. And the sense of power that it gave her! In this coat she could walk into any place she wanted and people would come scurrying around her like rabbits. The whole thing was just too wonderful for words!
    Mrs. Bixby picked up the envelope that was still lying in the box. She opened it and pulled out the Colonel’s letter:
    I once heard you saying you were fond of mink so I got you this. I’m told it’s a good one. Please accept it with my sincere good wishes as a parting gift. For my own personal reasons I shall not be able to see you anymore. Good-bye and good luck.
    Well!
    Imagine that!
    Right out of the blue, just when she was feeling so happy.
    No more Colonel.
    What a dreadful shock.
    She would miss him enormously.
    Slowly, Mrs. Bixby began stroking the lovely soft black fur of the coat.
    What you lose on the swings you get back on the roundabouts.
    She smiled and folded the letter, meaning to tear it up and throw it out of the window, but in folding it she noticed that there was something written on the other side:
    P.S. Just tell them that nice generous aunt of yours gave it to you for Christmas.
    Mrs. Bixby’s mouth, at that moment stretched wide in a silky smile, snapped back like a piece of elastic.
    “The man must be mad!” she cried. “Aunt Maude doesn’t have that sort of money. She couldn’t possibly give me this.”
    But if Aunt Maude didn’t give it to her, then who did?
    Oh God! In the excitement of finding the coat and trying it on, she had completely overlooked this vital aspect.
    In a couple of hours she would be in New York. Ten minutes after that she would be home, and the husband would be there to greet her; and even a man like Cyril, dwelling as he did in a dark phlegmy world of root canals, bicuspids, and caries, would startasking a few questions if his wife suddenly waltzed in from a weekend wearing a six-thousand-dollar mink coat.
    You know what I think, she told herself. I think that goddamn Colonel has done this on purpose just to torture me. He knew perfectly well Aunt Maude didn’t have enough money to buy this. He knew I wouldn’t be able to keep it.
    But the thought of parting with it now was more than Mrs. Bixby could bear.
    “I’ve
got
to have this coat!” she said aloud. “I’ve got to have this coat! I’ve got to have this coat!”
    Very well, my dear. You shall have the coat. But don’t panic. Sit still and keep calm and start thinking. You’re a clever girl, aren’t you? You’ve fooled him before. The man never has been able to see much further than the end of his own probe, you know that. So just sit absolutely still and
think.
There’s lots of time.
    Two and a half hours later, Mrs. Bixby stepped off the train at Pennsylvania Station and walked quietly to the exit. She was wearing her old red coat again now and carrying the cardboard box in her arms. She signalled for a taxi.
    “Driver,” she said, “would you know of a pawnbroker that’s still open around here?”
    The man behind the wheel raised his brows and looked back at her, amused.
    “Plenty along Sixth Avenue,” he answered.
    “Stop at the first one you see, then, will you please?” She got in and was driven away.
    Soon the taxi pulled up outside a shop that had three brass balls hanging over the entrance.
    “Wait for me, please,” Mrs. Bixby said to the