She had come from another fruitless visit to the baggage-room. She
sank into a leather-cushioned seat in a corner of the lift. Two men
entered briskly, followed by a bellboy. Mrs. McChesney did not look
up.

"Well, I'll be dinged!" boomed a throaty voice. "Mrs. McChesney, by
the Great Horn Spoon! H'are you? Talking about you this minute to my
friend here."

Emma McChesney, with the knowledge of her lost sample-trunks striking
her afresh, looked up and smiled bravely into the plump pink face of
Fat Ed Meyers, traveling representative for her firm's bitterest
rival, the Strauss Sans-silk Skirt Company.

"Talking about me, Mr. Meyers? Sufficient grounds for libel, right
there."

The little sallow, dark man just at Meyers' elbow was gazing at her
unguardedly. She felt that he had appraised her from hat to heels. Ed
Meyers placed a plump hand on the little man's shoulder.

"Abe, you tell the lady what I was saying. This is Mr. Abel Fromkin,
maker of the Fromkin Form-Fit Skirt. Abe, this is the wonderful Mrs.
McChesney."

"Sorry I can't wait to hear what you've said of me. This is my floor."
Mrs. McChesney was already leaving the elevator.

"Here! Wait a minute!" Fat Ed Meyers was out and standing beside her,
his movements unbelievably nimble. "Will you have dinner with us, Mrs.