Later, lingering inexplicably about the spot where she had heard so
many bewildering words, a very different man spoke to her. He, Linda
observed, was smoking a cigar, a good one, she was certain. He was
smallish and had a short bristling mustache and head partly bald.
His shoes were very shiny and altogether he had a look of prosperity.
"Hello, cutie!" he cried, capturing her arm. She responded listlessly.
The other produced a crisp dollar bill. "Do you see the chocolates
in that case?" he said, indicating the cigar-stand. "Well, get the
best. If they cost more, let me know. Our financial rating is number
one." Linda answered that she didn't think she cared for any. "All
right," the man agreed; "sink the note in the First National Ladies
Bank, if you know where that is."

He engineered her unwillingly onto a knee. "How's papa?" he
demanded. "I suppose he will be here Saturday to take his family
through the stores?"

She replied with dignity, "There is only my mother and me."

At this information he exclaimed "Ah!" and touched his mustache with
a diminutive gold-backed brush from a leather case. "That's more
than I have," he confided to her; "there is only myself. Isn't that
sad? You must be sorry for the lonely old boy."

She wasn't. Probably he, too, had a wife somewhere; men were
beastly. "I guess your mother wants a little company at times
herself?"

Linda, straining away from him, replied, "Oh, dear, no; there are