"That'll be about all," observed T. A. Junior, from his desk.

Ed Meyers started toward the door. Then he paused, turned, and came
back to his chair. His heavy jaw jutted out threateningly.

"No, it ain't all, either. I didn't want to mention it, and if you'd
treated me like a gentleman, I wouldn't have. But I want to say to you
that McChesney's giving this firm a black eye. Morals don't figure
with a man on the road, but when a woman breaks into this game, she's
got to be on the level."

T. A. Junior rose. The blonde stenographer who had made the admiring
remark anent his eyes would have appreciated those features now. They
glowed luminously into Ed Meyers' pale blue ones until that gentleman
dropped his eyelids in confusion. He seemed at a disadvantage in every
way, as T. A. Junior's lean, graceful height towered over the fat
man's bulk. "I don't know Mrs. McChesney," said T. A. Junior. "I
haven't even seen her in six years. My interest in the business is
very recent. I do know that my father swears she's the best salesman
he has on the road. Before you go any further I want to tell you that
you'll have to prove what you just implied, so definitely, and
conclusively, and convincingly that when you finish you'll have an
ordinary engineering blue-print looking like a Turner landscape.
Begin."

Ed Meyers, still standing, clutched his derby tightly and began.

"She's a looker, Emma is. And smooth! As the top of your desk. But
she's getting careless. Now a decent, hard-working, straight girl like