in the manner and conversation of Mrs. McChesney.

"Son here with you, I suppose," he asked, cheerily, sure that he was
on safe ground at last.

Emma McChesney closed her eyes. The little room became very still. In
a panic Ed Meyers looked helplessly from the white face, with its
hollow cheeks and closed eyelids to the nurse who sat at the window.
That discreet damsel put her finger swiftly to her lips, and shook her
head. Ed Meyers rose, hastily, his face a shade redder than usual.

"Well, I guess I gotta be running along. I'm tickled to death to find
you looking so fat and sassy. I got an idea you were just stalling for
a rest, that's all. Say, Mrs. McChesney, there's a swell little dame
in the house named Riordon. She's on the road, too. I don't know what
her line is, but she's a friendly kid, with a bunch of talk. A woman
always likes to have another woman fussin' around when she's sick. I
told her about you, and how I'd bet you'd be crazy to get a chance to
talk shop and Featherlooms again. I guess you ain't lost your interest
in Featherlooms, eh, what?"

Emma McChesney's face indicated not the faintest knowledge of
Featherloom Petticoats. Ed Meyers stared, aghast. And as he stared
there came a little knock at the door--a series of staccato raps, with
feminine knuckles back of them. The nurse went to the door,
disapproval on her face. At the turning of the knob there bounced into
the room a vision in an Alice-blue suit, plumes to match, pearl
earrings, elaborate coiffure of reddish-gold and a complexion that
showed an unbelievable trust in the credulity of mankind.