The night air was grateful to her hot forehead as she walked from the
theater to the hotel.
"Trunks in?" to the porter.
"No sign of 'em, lady. They didn't come in on the ten. Think they'd
better wire back to Dayton."
But the next morning Mrs. McChesney was in the depot baggage-room when
Dayton wired back:
_"Trunks not here. Try Columbus, Nebraska."_
"Crash!" said Emma McChesney to the surprised baggage-master. "There
goes my Haviland vegetable-dish."
"Were you selling china?" he inquired.
"No, I wasn't," replied Emma McChesney viciously. "And if you don't
let me stand here and give my frank, unbiased opinion of this road,
its president, board of directors, stockholders, baggage-men, Pullman
porters, and other things thereto appertaining, I'll probably have
hysterics."
"Give it," said the baggage-master." You'll feel better. And we're
used to it."
She gave it. When she had finished:
"Did you say you was selling goods on the road? Say, that's a hell of
a job for a woman! Excuse me, lady.
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