"You'll get on better," remarked Little Ann. "You've got a friendly
way and you've a lot of sense. I've noticed it."

Her head was bent over the red J and she still looked at it and not
at Tembarom. This was not coyness, but simple, calm absorption. If
she had not been making the J, she would have sat with her hands
folded in her lap, and gazed at the young man with undisturbed
attention.

"Have you?" said Tembarom, gratefully. "That gives me another boost,
Little Ann. What a man seems to need most is just plain twenty-cents-
a-yard sense. Not that I ever thought I had the dollar kind. I'm not
putting on airs."

"Mr. Galton knows the kind you have. I suppose that's why he gave you
the page." The words, spoken in the shrewd-sounding Manchester accent,
were neither flattering nor unflattering; they were merely impartial.

"Well, now I've got it, I can't fall down," said Tembarom. "I've got
to find out for myself how to get next to the people I want to talk
to. I've got to find out who to get next to."

Little Ann put in the final red stitch of the letter J and laid the
sock neatly folded on the basket.

"I've just been thinking something, Mr. Tembarom," she said. "Who
makes the wedding-cakes?"

He gave a delighted start.