d-colored set of
face alfalfa; but, then, Brooks boy is sort of that kind himself--that
is, all but his eyes. They're a wide-set, dreamy, baby-blue pair of
lamps, that beams mild and good-natured on everyone.

But Mrs. Brooks Bladen is got up even more arty than Hubby. Maybe it
wa'n't sugar sackin' or furniture burlap, but that's what the stuff
looked like. It's gathered jaunty just under her armpits and hangs in
long folds to the floor, with a thick rope of yellow silk knotted
careless at one side with the tassels danglin' below her knee, while
around her head is a band of tinsel decoration that might have been
pinched off from a Christmas tree. She's a tall, willowy young woman,
who waves her bare arms around vivacious when she talks and has lots of
sparkle to her eyes.

"You dear child!" is her greetin' to Marjorie. "So sweet of you to
attempt all those dreadful stairs! No, don't try to talk yet. We
understand, don't we, Brooks? Nice you're not sensitive about it, too."

I caught the glare Marjorie shoots over, and for a minute I figured how
the picture buyin' deal had been queered at the start; but the next
thing I knew Brooks boy is holdin' Marjorie's hand and beamin' gentle
on her, and she is showin' all her dimples once more. Say, they're
worth watchin', some of these fluff encounters.

My act? Ah, say, most of that good dope is all wasted. Nobody seems
excited over the fact that I've arrived, even Brooks Bladen. As a
salesman he ain't a great success, I judge. Don't tout up his stuff
any, or try to shove off any seconds or shopworn pieces. He just tells
me to look around, and half apologizes for his line in advance.

Well, for real hand-painted stuff it was kind of tame. None of this
snowy-mountain-peak or mirror-lake business, such as you see in the
department stores. It's just North River scenes; some clear, some
smoky, some lookin' up, some lookin' down, and some just across. In
one he'd done a Port Lee ferryboat pretty fair; but there's another
that strikes me harder. It shows a curve in the drive, with one of
them green motor busses goin' by, the top loaded, and off in the
background to one side the Palisades loomin' up against a fair-weather
sunset, while in the middle you can see clear up to Yonkers. Honest,
it's almost as good as some of them things on the insurance calendars,
and I'm standin' gawpin' at it when Brooks Bladen and Marjorie drifts
along.

"Well?" says he, sort of