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The Badge
A Story
- Abstract
I wish I had a new suit to sew it on. This one’s all shabby and the patch on the right-hand pocket stands out too much.
Still it is so very bright, their eyes will fasten on it and they won’t look at anything else.
All the same, I must dress carefully. They’ll be staring at me and I’d just as soon not take chances. I’ve pressed the crease in my trousers, everything is brushed, shoes shined—only my tie has to be changed; it should be maroon, not blue. To think some people believed it would be blue and white! After all, yellow and black-not so bad—
I’ll go right out; I don’t feel hungry, so I’ll just leave everything on the table, straighten the place up tonight. One last look in the mirror: really it has a kind of assurance, with those six defensive and stubborn points. I’ll hold a book in my hand, but I must remember not to put it under my arm, because that would hide it. Have I forgotten anything—my knife, my papers? All right, let’s go.
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