"'Vat's your bees'ness?'

"'I'm selling clothing.'

"'Vat? Veil, I am in dot bees'ness myself.'

"'Who do you travel for?' said I, playing the innocent.

"'I'm not on de roat,' said the old man. 'I am just out on a leetle
trip for my healt. I am a monufacturer. Who do you trafel for?'

"I told him and then tried to switch the conversation to something
else. I knew the old man wouldn't let me do it.

"'V'ere do you trafel?' said he.

"'Oh, Colorado, Utah, and up into Montana and Wyoming,' I answered.

"The old man took his feet off the cushions and his arms from the back
of his seat. I thought I had him right then.

"'Dot's a goot contry,' said he. 'How long haf you been in deese
beezness?' 'Five years,' said I. 'Always mit de same house?' 'Yes,'
said I, 'I don't believe in changing.' The old man had let his cigar
go out and he lit a match and let it burn his finger. I was sure that
he was after me then.

"I didn't tell him that I had been a stock boy for nearly four years
and on the road a little over one. It is a good sign, you know, if a