was the next. A mind free of any
consideration of the problems or forces of the world and actuated not
by greed, but an insatiable love of variable pleasure. His method was
always simple. Its principal element was daring, backed, of course, by
an intense desire and admiration for the sex. Let him meet with a young
woman once and he would approach her with an air of kindly familiarity,
not unmixed with pleading, which would result in most cases in a
tolerant acceptance. If she showed any tendency to coquetry he would be
apt to straighten her tie, or if she "took up" with him at all, to call
her by her first name. If he visited a department store it was to lounge
familiarly over the counter and ask some leading questions. In more
exclusive circles, on the train or in waiting stations, he went slower.
If some seemingly vulnerable object appeared he was all attention--to
pass the compliments of the day, to lead the way to the parlor car,
carrying her grip, or, failing that, to take a seat next her with the
hope of being able to court her to her destination. Pillows, books, a
footstool, the shade lowered; all these figured in the things which he
could do. If, when she reached her destination he did not alight and
attend her baggage for her, it was because, in his own estimation, he
had signally failed.

A woman should some day write the complete philosophy of clothes. No
matter how young, it is one of the things she wholly comprehends. There
is an indescribably faint line in the matter of man's apparel which
somehow divides for her those who are worth glancing at and those
who are not. Once an individual has passed this faint line on the way
downward he will get no glance from her. There is another line at
which the dress of a man will cause her to study her own. This line the
individual at her elbow now marked for Carrie. She became conscious
of an inequality. Her own plain blue dress, with its black cotton tape
trimmings, now seemed to her shabby. She felt the worn state of her
shoes.

"Let's see," he went on, "I know quite a number of people in your town.
Morgenroth the clothier and Gibson the dry goods man."

"Oh, do you?" she interrupted, aroused by memories of longings their
show windows had cost her.

At last he had a clew to her interest, and followed it deftly. In a few
minutes he had come about into her seat. He talked of sales of clothing,
his travels, Chicago, and the amusements of that city.

"If you are g