"It's like this," he explained. "The page is a new deal, anyhow.
There didn't used to be an up-town society column at all. It was all
Fifth Avenue and the four hundred; but ours isn't a fashionable paper,
and their four hundred ain't going to buy it to read their names in
it. They'd rather pay to keep out of it. Uptown's growing like smoke,
and there's lots of people up that way that'd like their friends to
read about their weddings and receptions, and would buy a dozen
copies to send away when their names were in. There's no end of women
and girls that'd like to see their clothes described and let their
friends read the descriptions. They'd buy the paper, too, you bet.
It'll be a big circulation-increaser. It's Galton's idea, and he gave
the job to Biker because he thought an educated fellow could get hold
of people. But somehow he couldn't. Seems as if they didn't like him.
He kept getting turned down. The page has been mighty poor-- no
pictures of brides or anything. Galton's been sick over it. He'd been
sure it'd make a hit. Then Biker's always drinking more or less, and
he's got the swell head, anyhow. I believe that's the reason he
couldn't make good with the up-towners."

"Perhaps he was too well educated, Mr. Tembarom," said Little Ann.
She was marking a letter J in red cotton, and her outward attention
was apparently wholly fixed on her work.

"Say, now," Tembarom broke out, "there's where you come in. You go on
working as if there was nothing but that sock in New York, but I
guess you've just hit the dot. Perhaps that was it. He wanted to do
Fifth Avenue work anyway, and he didn't go at Harlem right. He put on
Princeton airs when he asked questions. Gee! a fellow can't put on
any kind of airs when he's the one that's got to ask."