no one could do more than try. He climbed the fence with a reluctance that was
the more noticeable because his climbing was retarded by the oilcloth-covered
parcel he held beneath his arm. The lady smiled as she noticed that he had not
feared his soliciting habits sufficiently to leave the book in the buggy, and
she made a mental note of this to be used in the story she meant to write about
this book-agent type.

"My name is Smith," she told him, as she tripped lightly toward the group about
the lunch baskets.

Eliph' Hewlitt was a small man and his movements were short and jerky. He drew
his hand over his red whiskers and coughed gently when she mentioned her name,
and as she hurried on before him he looked at her tall, straight figure; noticed
the stylish mode of her simple summer gown, and caught a glimpse of low, white
shoes and neat ankles covered by delicately woven silk.

"Courtship--How to Make Love--How to Win the Affections--How to Hold Them When
Won," he meditated. "Lovely, but she will not suit. She is an encyclopedia of
knowledge and compendium of literature, science and art, but she is not the
edition I can afford. She is gilt-edged and morocco bound, and an ornament to
any parlor, but I can't afford her. My style is cloth, good substantial cloth,
one dollar down and one dollar a month until paid. As I might say."




CHAPTER II
Susan