"Oh, yes," replied Emma McChesney, and decided it was time to go in.

"Lonesome, ain't it, without company? Goin' far?"

"I'm accustomed to it. I travel on business, not pleasure. I'm on the
road, representing T. A. Buck's Featherloom Petticoats!"

The once handsome violet eyes of the plump blonde widened with
surprise. Then they narrowed to critical slits.

"On the road! Sellin' goods! And I thought you was only a kid. It's
the way your hair's fixed, I suppose. Say, that must be a hard life
for a woman--buttin' into a man's game like that."

"Oh, I suppose any work that takes a woman out into the world--" began
Emma McChesney vaguely, her hand on the door-knob.

"Sure," agreed the other. "I ought to know. The hotels and time-tables
alone are enough to kill. Who do you suppose makes up train schedules?
They don't seem to think no respectable train ought to leave anywhere
before eleven-fifty A.M., or arrive after six A.M. We played Ottumwa,
Iowa, last night, and here we are jumpin' to Illinois."

In surprise Emma McChesney turned at the door for another look at the
hair, figure, complexion and kimono.

"Oh, you're an actress! Well, if you think mine is a hard life for a
woman, why--"