He had ample time for reflection, for it was a hot day,
and though he drove slowly, the horses were sweating at every pore.
Pel Frost, then, must have overheard his wife's storm of reproaches,
perhaps even her threats of violence. It had come to this,
that he was the village laughing-stock, a butt of ridicule at
the store and tavern.
Now, two years before this, Jerry Todd had for the first
and only time in his married life "put his foot down."
Mrs. Todd had insisted on making him a suit of clothes
much against his wishes. When finished she put them
on him almost by main force, though his plaintive appeals
would have melted any but a Stover-of-Scarboro heart.
The stuff was a large plaid, the elbows and knees came
in the wrong places, the seat was lined with enameled cloth,
and the sleeves cut him in the armholes.
Mr. Todd said nothing for a moment, but the pent-up
slavery of years stirred in him, and, mounting to his brain,
gave him a momentary courage that resembled intoxication.
He retired, took off the suit, hung it over his arm, and, stalking
into the sitting-room in his undergarments, laid it on the table
before his astonished spouse, and, thumping it dramatically,
said firmly, "I--will--not--wear--them--clo'es!" whereupon
he fell into silence again and went to bed.
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