too--I'll buy the smokes."

Many traveling men make mistakes by steering shy of cranks. The so-
called crank is the easiest man to approach, if only you go at him
right.

Once I sat at dinner with two other traveling men who were strangers
to me--as strange as one traveling man ever is to another. This is
not, however, very "strange," for the cosmopolitan life of the road
breeds a good fellowship and a sort of secret society fraternity among
all knights of the grip. My territory being new, I made inquiry
regarding the merchants of a certain town to which I intended to go.

"Don't go there," spoke up one of my table companions. "There's no one
there who's any good except old man Duke and he's the biggest crank on
earth. He discounts his bills,--but Lord, it's a job to get near him."

Some men on the road are vulgar; but will not this comment apply to
some few of any class of men?

"My friend," said companion number two, looking straight at the man
who had just made the above remarks, "I've been on the road these many
years and, if my observation counts for anything, those we meet are,
to a great extent, but reflections of ourselves. True, many call Mr.
Duke peculiar, but I have always got along with him without any
trouble. I consider him a gentleman."

I went to the "old crank's" town. As I rode on the train, louder than
the clacking of the car wheels, I heard myself saying over and over
again: "_Those we meet are, to a great extent, but reflections of