angrily. "I was thinking of something altogether--different."

"Yes. That's just it," murmured the Traveling Salesman placidly.
"Something--altogether--different. Every time I look at him it's the
darnedest thing! Every time I look at him I--forget all about him. My
head begins to wag and my foot begins to tap--and I find myself trying
to--_hum_ him--as though he was the words of a tune I used to know."

When the Traveling Salesman looked round again, there were tears in
the Youngish Girl's eyes, and an instant after that her shoulders went
plunging forward till her forehead rested on the back of the Traveling
Salesman's seat.

But it was not until the Young Electrician had come striding back to
his seat, and wrapped himself up in the fold of a big newspaper, and
not until the train had started on again and had ground out another
noisy mile or so, that the Traveling Salesman spoke again--and this
time it was just a little bit surreptitiously.

"What--you--crying--for?" he asked with incredible gentleness.

"I don't know, I'm sure," confessed the Youngish Girl, snuffingly. "I
guess I must be tired."

"U-m-m," said the Traveling Salesman.

After a moment or two he heard the sharp little click of a watch.

"Oh, dear me!" fretted the Youngish Girl's somewhat smothered voice.
"I didn't realize we were almost two hours late. Why, it will be dark,