"Why, hello, stranger! When did you drive in? How's every little
thing? I'm darned if you don't grow prettier and younger every day of
your sweet life."

"Quit Sans-silks?" inquired Mrs. McChesney briefly.

[Illustration: "'Honestly. I'd wear it myself!'"]

"Why--no. But I was just telling young T. A. in there that if I could
only find a nice, paying little gents' furnishing business in a live
little town that wasn't swamped with that kind of thing already I'd
buy it, by George! I'm tired of this peddling."

"Sing that," said Emma McChesney. "It might sound better," and marched
into the office marked "Private."

T. A. Junior's good-looking back and semi-bald head were toward her as
she entered. She noted, approvingly, woman-fashion, that his neck
would never lap over the edge of his collar in the back. Then Young T.
A. turned about. He gazed at Emma McChesney, his eyebrows raised
inquiringly. Emma McChesney's honest blue eyes, with no translucent
nonsense about them, gazed straight back at T. A. Junior.

"I'm Mrs. McChesney. I got in half an hour ago. It's been a good
little trip, considering business, and politics, and all that. I'm
sorry to hear your father's still ill. He and I always talked over
things after my long trip."

Young T. A.'s expert eye did not miss a single point, from the tip of