one has to pay for. I'm only a newspaper man." He felt a glow of
pride as he said the words. He was a newspaper man even now. "Don't
let me stop you a minute. I'm in luck to get inside anywhere and sit
down. Let me wait."

Mrs. Munsberg read the Sunday papers and revered them. She also knew
the value of advertisement. She caught her husband's eye and
hurriedly winked at him.

"It's awful outside. 'T won't do harm if he waits--if he ain't no
agent," she put in.

"See," said Tembarom, handing over one of the cards which had been
Little Ann's businesslike inspiration.

"T. Tembarom. New York Sunday Earth," read Munsberg, rather
grudgingly. He looked at T. Tembarom, and T. Tembarom looked back at
him. The normal human friendliness in the sharp boyish face did it.

"Vell," he said, making another jerk toward a chair, "if you ain't no
agent, you can vait."

"Thank you," said Tembarom, and sat down. He had made another start,
anyhow.

After this the packing went on fast and furious. A youth appeared
from the back of the store, and ran here and there as he was ordered.
Munsberg and his wife filled wooden and cardboard boxes with small
cakes and larger ones, with sandwiches and salads, candies and
crystallized fruits. Into the larger box was placed a huge cake with