I'm a member of this order myself, and a finer lot of fellows it has
never been my pleasure to know."

"Yes, I know," drawled Emma McChesney. "Do you know, the thing that
gets me is the inconsistency of it. Along come a lot of boobs who
never use a hotel the year around except to loaf in the lobby, and
wear out the leather chairs, and use up the matches and toothpicks and
get the baseball returns, and immediately you turn away a traveling
man who uses a three-dollar-a-day room, with a sample room downstairs
for his stuff, who tips every porter and bell-boy in the place, asks
for no favors, and who, if you give him a half-way decent cup of
coffee for breakfast, will fall in love with the place and boom it all
over the country. Half of your Benevolent Bisons are here on the
European plan, with a view to patronizing the free-lunch counters or
being asked to take dinner at the home of some local Bison whose wife
has been cooking up on pies, and chicken salad and veal roast for the
last week."

[Illustration: "'Son!' echoed the clerk, staring"]

Emma McChesney leaned over the desk a little, and lowered her voice to
the tone of confidence. "Now, I'm not in the habit of making a
nuisance of myself like this. I don't get so chatty as a rule, and I
know that I could jump over to Monmouth and get first-class
accommodations there. But just this once I've a good reason for
wanting to make you and myself a little miserable. Y'see, my son is
traveling with me this trip."

"Son!" echoed the clerk, staring.