OFFICER: That’s a pretty large foot, Miss Simple, but lots of men have got large feet.

DOROTHY: Not in Primanproper, Massachusetts. Mr. Knowzit, the shoe clerk, assured me that there isn’t a man in town who wears a shoe that size. Of course you realize the danger of allowing this maniac to remain at large. Any man who would crush a sweet petunia is equally capable in my opinion of striking a helpless woman or kicking an innocent child!

OFFICER: I’ll do my best, Miss Simple. See yuh later.

DOROTHY [curtly]: Yes. Goodbye. [Slams door. She returns behind her notion counter and drums restively with her pale pink-polished nails. The canary cheeps timidly. Then tries an arpeggio. Dorothy, to canary.] Oh, hush up! [Then contritely.] Excuse me, please. My nerves are all to pieces!

[She blows her nose. The doorbell tinkles as a customer enters. He is a young man, shockingly large and aggressive looking in the flower-papered cubicle of the shop.]

Gracious, please be careful. You’re bumping your head against my chandelier.

YOUNG MAN [good-humoredly]: Sorry, Miss Simple. I guess I’d better sit down. [The delicate little chair collapses beneath him.]

DOROTHY: Heaven have mercy upon us! You seem to have a genius for destruction! You’ve broken that little antique chair to smithereens!

YOUNG MAN: Sorry, Miss Simple.

DOROTHY: I appreciate your sorrow, but that won’t mend my chair. —Is there anything I can show you in the way of notions?

YOUNG MAN: I’d like to see that pair of wine-colored socks you have in the window.

DOROTHY: What size socks do you wear?

YOUNG MAN: I keep forgetting. But my shoes are eleven D.

DOROTHY [sharply]: What size did you say? Eleven? Eleven D?

YOUNG MAN: That’s right, Miss Simple. Eleven D.

DOROTHY: Oh. Your shoes are rather muddy, aren’t they?

YOUNG MAN: That’s right, Miss Simple, I believe they are.

DOROTHY: Quite muddy. It looks like you might have stepped in a freshly watered flower bed last night.

YOUNG MAN: Come to think of it, that’s what I did.

DOROTHY: I don’t suppose you’ve heard about that horrible case of petunia crushing which occurred last night?

YOUNG MAN: As a matter of fact, I have heard something about it.

DOROTHY: From the policeman on the corner?

YOUNG MAN: No, ma’am. Not from him.

DOROTHY: Who from, then? He’s the only man who knows about it except—except—except—the man who did it! [Pause. The canary cheeps inquiringly.] You—you—you—are the man who did it!

YOUNG MAN: Yes, Miss Simple. I am the man who did it.

DOROTHY: Don’t try to get away!

YOUNG MAN: I won’t, Miss Simple.

DOROTHY: Stand right where you are till the officer comes!

YOUNG MAN: You’re going to call the officer?

DOROTHY: Yes, I am, I certainly am. —In a minute. First I’d like to ask you why you did it? Why did you crush my petunias?

YOUNG MAN: Okay. I’ll tell you why. First, because you’d barricaded your house—and also your heart—behind that silly little double row of petunias!