he open door: "My, you're a stranger, Mrs. Buck."

"Be with you in a minute, Emma," said T.A. And turned to his desk again.
She rose and strolled toward the door, restlessly. "Don't hurry." Out in
the showroom again she saw Fisk standing before a long table. He was
ticketing and folding samples of petticoats, pajamas, blouses, and
night-gowns. His cigar was gripped savagely between his teeth and his
eyes squinted, half closed through the smoke.

She strolled over to him and fingered the cotton flannel of a garment
that lay under her hand. "Spring samples?"

"Yes."

"It ought to be a good trip. They say the West is dripping money, war or
no war."

"'S right."

"How's Gertie?"

"Don't get me started, Mrs. Buck. That girl!--say, I knew what she was
when I married her, and so did you. She was head stenographer here long
enough. But I never really knew that kid until now, and we've been
married two years. You know what the last year has been for her; the
baby and all. And then losing him. And do you know what she says! That
if there was somebody who knew the Western territory and could cover it,
she'd get a job and send me to war. Yessir! That's Gert. We've been
married two years, and she says herself it's the first really happy time
she's ever known. You know what she had at home. Why, even when I was
away on my long spring trip she used to say it wasn't so bad being
alone, because there was always my home-coming to count on. How's that
for a wife!"

"Gertie's splendid," agreed Emma. And wondered why it sounded so lame.

"You don't know her. Why, when it comes to patriotism, she makes T.R.
look like a pacifist. She says if she could sell my line on the road,
she'd make you give her the job so she could send her man to war. Gert
says a travelling man's wife ought to make an ideal soldier's wife,
anyway; and that if I went it would only be like my long Western trip,
multiplied by about ten, maybe. That's Gertie."

Emma was fingering the cotton-flannel garment on the table.

Buck crossed the room and stood beside her. "Sorry I kept you waiting.
Three of the boys were called to-day. It crippled us pretty badly in the
shipping room. Ready?"

"Yes. Good-night, Charley. Give my love to Gertie."

"Thanks, Mrs. Buck." He picked up his cigar, took an apprehensive puff
and went on ticketing and folding. There was a grin behind the cigar
now.

Into the late afternoon glitter of Fifth Avenue. Five o'clock Fifth
Avenue