out half as big when it
gets here."

Martin was talking not so much for Osborne's benefit as to impress a
woman who had entered behind him and was awaiting her turn. He wondered
why, in his mental quest, he had not thought of her. Here was the very
person for whom he was looking. Rose Conroy, the editor of the better
local weekly, a year or so younger than himself, pleasant, capable. Here
was a real woman, one above the average in character and brains.

With a quick glance he took in her well-built figure. Everything
about Rose--every line, every tone of her coloring suggested warmth,
generosity, bigness. She was as much above medium height for a woman as
Martin for a man. About her temples the line of her bright golden-brown
hair had an oddly pleasing irregularity. The rosy color in her cheeks
brought out the rich creamy whiteness of her skin. Warm, gray-blue eyes
were set far apart beneath a kind, broad forehead and her wide, generous
mouth seemed made to smile. The impression of good temper and fun
was accented by her nose, ever so slightly up-tilted. Some might have
thought Rose too large, her hips too rounded, the soft deep bosom too
full, but Martin's eyes were approving. Even her hands, plump, with
broad palms, square fingers and well-kept nails, suggested decision.
He felt the quiet distinction of her simple white dress. She was like a
full-blown, luxuriant white and gold flower--like a rose, a full-blown
white rose, Martin realized, suddenly. One couldn't call her pretty, but
there was something about her that gave the impression of sumptuous
good looks. He liked, too, the spirited carriage of her head. "Healthy,
good-sense, sound all through," was his final appraisement.

Pocketing his bank-book, he gave her a sharp nod, a colorless
"how-de-do, Miss Rose," and a tip of the hat that might have been a
little less stiff had he been more accustomed to greeting the ladies.
"Right well, thank you, Martin," was her cordial response, and her
friendly smile told him she had heard and understood the remarks about
the big deal. He was curious to know how it had impressed her.

Hurrying out, he asked himself how he could begin advances. Either he
must do something quickly in time to get home for the evening chores
or he must wait until another day. He must think out a plan, at once.
Passing the bakery, half way down the block, he dropped in, ordered a
chocolate ice-cream soda, and chose a seat near the window. As he ha