Emma McChesney put down the skirt and crossed the
office so that she and he met just in front of the little gate that
formed an entrance along the railing.
Ed Meyers' mouth twisted itself into a smile. He put out a welcoming
hand.
"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.
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