for exams? That I'll have to cater to the personality of the
person I'm selling to? Why--it's--it's----"

Emma McChesney nodded calmly.

"I don't know how this trip of yours is going to affect the
firm's business, T. A. But it's going to be a liberal education
for you. You'll find that you'll need that little book a good
many times before you're through. And while you're following its
advice, do this: forget that your name is Buck, except for
business purposes; forget that your family has always lived in a
brownstone mausoleum in Seventy-second street; forget that you
like your chops done just so, and your wine at such-and-such a
temperature; get close to your trade. They're an awfully human
lot, those Middle Western buyers. Don't chuck them under the
chin, but smile on 'em. And you've got a lovely smile, T. A."

Buck looked up from the little leather book. And, as he gazed at
Emma McChesney, the smile appeared and justified its praise.

"I'll have this to comfort me, anyway, Emma. I'll know that
while I'm smirking on the sprightly Miss Sweeney, your face will
be undergoing various agonizing twists in the effort to make
American prices understood by an Argentine who can't speak
anything but Spanish."

"Maybe I am short on Spanish, but I'm long on Featherlooms. I
may not know a senora from a chili con carne, but I know
Featherlooms from the waistband to the hem." She leaned
forward, dimpling like fourteen instead of forty. "And you've