Street he might chance to find them.

"All right," said Tembarom to the girl, delighting her by lifting his
hat genially as he turned to go down the steps. "I'll just keep going.
The Sunday Earth can't come out without those photographs in it. I
should lose my job."

When at last he ran the brides to cover it was not at Two Hundred and
Seventy-fifth Street, but in their own home, to which they had
finally returned. They had heard from the servant-girl about what the
young gentleman from the Sunday Earth had said, and they were
mollified by his proper appreciation of values. Tembarom's dressmaker
friend also proffered information.

"I know him myself," she said, "and he's a real nice gentle-manlike
young man. He's not a bit like Biker. He doesn't think he knows
everything. He came to me from Mrs. Munsberg, just to ask me the
names of fashionable materials. He said it was more important than a
man knew till he found out" Miss Stuntz chuckled.

"He asked me to lend him some bits of samples so he could learn them
off by heart, and know them when he saw them. He's got a pleasant
laugh; shows his teeth, and they're real pretty and white; and he
just laughed like a boy and said: 'These samples are my alphabet,
Miss Stuntz. I'm going to learn to read words of three syllables in
them.'"

When late in the evening Tembarom, being let out of the house after
his interview, turned down the steps again, he carried with him all
he had wanted--information and photographs, even added picturesque