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Updated: May 9, 2025
He was a little tailor-man that wurruked in a panthry down town, an' I seen him weep whin a dog was r-run over be a dhray. Thin Casey 'd call on Doolan f'r to stand his ground an' desthroy th' polis, 'th' onions iv th' monno-polists, he called thim, an' Doolan 'd say, 'Hear, hear, till I thrun thim both out.
The duty lay with him; he must answer this black infidel for the Church, for faith, for God. The more he thought of it, the more Charley's face came before him, with the monocle shining and hard in the eye. The monocle haunted him. That was the infidel's sign. "Show me a sign from Heaven, tailor-man!" What sign should he show? Presently he sat up straight in bed.
A Protestant heretic he was already damned; a robber you could put him in jail; a spy you could shoot him or tar and feather him; a murderer you could hang him. But an infide this was a deadly poison, a black danger, a being capable of all crimes. An infidel "Therefore, wherefore, tailor-man? . . . Therefore, wherefore, God? . . . Show me a sign from Heaven, tailor-man!"
Then he remembered the tale he had heard. He turned away gravely to his brother. "Was it the cross or the woman he went for?" he asked. "Great God do you ask!" the Seigneur said indignantly. "And he deserves her," he muttered under his breath. Charley opened his eyes. "Is she safe?" he asked, starting up. "Unscathed, my son," the Cure said. Was this tailor-man not his son?
He laughed, a dry, crackling laugh, and his mouth opened twice or thrice to speak, but gasping breaths only came forth. With a last effort, however as the priest, shocked, stretched out his hand and said: "Have done, have done, Trudel!" he cried, in a voice that quavered shrilly: "He asked tailor-man sign from Heaven. Look-look!" He pointed wildly at Charley. "I gave him sign of "
"By the great decree, the man was able to stop the horse, not a half- dozen feet from the ravine. The horse and the insensible driver were spared death death. So, Messieurs, does bravery come from unexpected places see?" The Seigneur, the Cure, and even the Notary clapped their hands, and murmured praises of the tailor-man. But the Colonel did not yet take his seat.
The words he had written the night before came to him: "Therefore, wherefore, tailor-man? Therefore, wherefore, God? . . . Show me a sign from Heaven, tailor-man!" As if in reply to his thoughts there came the sound of singing, and of bells ringing in the parish church. A procession with banners was coming near. It was a holy day, and Chaudiere was mindful of its duties.
The eve of the day of the memorable funeral two belated visitors to the Passion Play arrived in the village, unknowing that it had ended, and of the tragedy which had set a whole valley mourning; unconscious that they shared in the bitter fortunes of the tailor-man, of whom men and women spoke with tears.
But that was the end. With a shudder the body collapsed in a formless heap, and the tailor-man was gone to tell of the work he had done for his faith on earth. White and malicious faces peered through the doorway. There was an ugly murmur coming up the staircase. Many habitants had heard Louis Trudel's last words, and had passed them on with vehement exaggeration.
A West-end cut is not achieved, but for flannels, light tweeds and all such clothes as are worn in the tropics, they are very passable. "Boy." "Sai." "Talkee that tailor-man four o'clock come. Wantchee new clothes." At four o'clock the tailor is there with a bundle of patterns from which you select a thin serge and a white flannel, and order a suit of each.
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