rs. He dropped both sample
cases and shook hands with Fanny, eying her expertly and approvingly,
and yet without insolence. He was a wise, road-weary, skillful member
of his fraternity, grown gray in years of service, and a little bitter.
Though perhaps that was due partly to traveling man's dyspepsia, brought
on by years of small-town hotel food.

"So you've sold out."

"Yes. Over a month ago."

"H'm. That was a nice little business you had there. Your ma built it up
herself. There was a woman! Gosh! Discounted her bills, even during the
panic."

Fanny smiled a reflective little smile. "That line is a complete
characterization of my mother. Her life was a series of panics. But she
never lost her head. And she always discounted."

He held out his hand. "Well, glad I met you." He picked up his sample
cases. "You leaving Winnebago?"

"Yes."

"Going to the city, I suppose. Well you're a smart girl. And your
mother's daughter. I guess you'll get along all right. What house are
you going with?"

"I don't know. I'm waiting for the right chance. It's all in starting
right. I'm not going to hurry."

He put down his cases again, and his eyes grew keen and kindly. He
gesticulated with one broad forefinger. "Listen, m' girl. I'm what they
call an old-timer. They want these high-power, eight-cylinder kids on
the road these days, and it's all we can do to keep up. But I've got
something they haven't got--yet. I never read anybody on the Psychology
of Business, but I know human nature all the way from Elm Street,
Winnebago, to Fifth Avenue, New York."

"I'm sure you do," said Fanny politely, and took a little step forward,
as though to end the conversation.

"Now wait a minute. They say the way to learn is to make mistakes. If
that's true, I'm at the head of the class. I've made 'em all. Now get
this. You start out and specialize. Specialize! Tie to one thing, and
make yourself an expert in it. But first be sure it's the right thing."

"But how is one to be sure?"

"By squinting up your eyes so you can see ten years ahead. If it looks
good to you at that distance--better, in fact, than it does close
by--then it's right. I suppose that's what they call having imagination.
I never had any. That's why I'm still selling goods on the road. To look
at you I'd say you had too much. Maybe I'm wrong. But I never yet saw
a woman with a mouth like yours who was cut out for business--unless
it was your mother--And her eyes were