"I make DeKalb, too," remarked Emma McChesney, the light of battle in
her eye.

"You mean," gently insinuated the fat man, "that you were going to,
but that's all over now."

"Huh?" said Emma.

"Our agreement, you know," the fat man reminded her, sweetly. "You
aren't going back on that. The cottage and the Sunday dinner for you,
remember."

Of course," agreed Emma listlessly." I think I'll go up and get some
sleep now. Didn't get much last night on the road."

"Won't you--er--come down and have a little something moist? Or we
could have it sent up here," suggested the fat man.

"You're the third man that's asked me that to-day," snapped Emma
McChesney, somewhat crossly. "Say, what do I look like, anyway? I
guess I'll have to pin a white ribbon on my coat lapel."

"No offense," put in the fat man, with haste. "I just thought it would
bind our bargain. I hope you'll be happy, and contented, and all that,
you know."

"Let it go double," replied Emma McChesney, and shook his hand.

"Guess I'll run down and get a smoke," remarked he.