"Well, I thought I knew women, but--" began Ed Meyers fluently.
Passing the desk, Mrs. McChesney heard her name. She glanced toward
the clerk. He was just hanging up the telephone-receiver.
"Baggage-room says the depot just notified 'em your trunks were traced
to Columbia City. They're on their way here now."
"Columbia City!" repeated Emma McChesney. "Do you know, I believe I've
learned to hate the name of the discoverer of this fair land."
Up in her room she opened the crumpled telegram again, and regarded it
thoughtfully before she began to pack her bag.
The thoughtful look was still there when she entered the big bright
office of the T. A. Buck Featherloom Petticoat Company. And with it
was another expression that resembled contrition.
"Mr. Buck's waiting for you," a stenographer told her.
Mrs. McChesney opened the door of the office marked "Private."
Two men rose. One she recognized as the firm's lawyer. The other, who
came swiftly toward her, was T. A. Buck--no longer junior.
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