Miss Hattie Stitch, of Kiser & Bloch's, River Falls, won't buy of her.
You'll find you don't sell that firm. And they buy big, too. Why, last
summer I had it from the clerk of the hotel in that town that she ran
around all day with a woman named LeHaye--Blanche LeHaye, of an
aggregation of bum burlesquers called the Sam Levin Crackerjack
Belles. And say, for a whole month there, she had a tough young kid
traveling with her that she called her son. Oh, she's queering your
line, all right. The days are past when it used to be a signal for a
loud, merry laugh if you mentioned you were selling goods on the road.
It's a fine art, and a science these days, and the name of T. A. Buck
has always stood for--"

Downstairs a trim, well-dressed, attractive woman stepped into the
elevator and smiled radiantly upon the elevator man, who had smiled
first.

"Hello, Jake," she said. "What's old in New York? I haven't been here
in three months. It's good to be back."

"Seems grand t' see you, Mis' McChesney," returned Jake." Well,
nothin' much stirrin'. Whatcha think of the Grand Central? I
understand they're going to have a contrivance so you can stand on a
mat in the waiting-room and wish yourself down to the track an' train
that you're leavin' on. The G'ints have picked a bunch of shines this
season. T. A. Junior's got a new sixty-power auto. Genevieve--that
yella-headed steno--was married last month to Henry, the shipping
clerk. My wife presented me with twin girls Monday. Well, thank _you_,
Mrs. McChesney. I guess that'll help some."

Emma McChesney swung down the hall and into the big, bright office.