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“She smiles a little, and blushes some, but her eyes never get mixed up. They look straight at whatever she’s talking to.

“‘I never had any one talk like this to me before, Mr. Pescud,’ says she. ‘What did you say your name is–John?’

“‘John A.,’ says I.

“‘And you came mighty near missing the train at Powhatan Junction, too,’ says she, with a laugh that sounded as good as a mileage-book to me.

“‘How did you know?’ I asked.

“‘Men are very clumsy,’ said she. ‘I knew you were on every train. I thought you were going to speak to me, and I’m glad you didn’t.’

“Then we had more talk; and at last a kind of proud, serious look came on her face, and she turned and pointed a finger at the big house.

“‘The Allyns,’ says she, ‘have lived in Elmcroft for a hundred years. We are a proud family. Look at that mansion. It has fifty rooms. See the pillars and porches and balconies. The ceilings in the reception-rooms and the ball-room are twenty-eight feet high. My father is a lineal descendant of belted earls.’

“‘I belted one of ’em once in the Duquesne Hotel, in Pittsburgh,’ says I, ‘and he didn’t offer to resent it. He was there dividing his attentions between Monongahela whiskey and heiresses, and he got fresh.’

“‘Of course,’ she goes on, ‘my father wouldn’t allow a drummer to set his foot in Elmeroft. If he knew that I was talking to one over the fence he would lock me in my room.’

“‘Would you let me come there?’ says I. ‘Would you talk to me if I was to call? For,’ I goes on, ‘if you said I might come and see you, the earls might be belted or suspendered, or pinned up with safety- pins, as far as I am concerned.’

“‘I must not talk to you,’ she says, ‘because we have not been introduced. It is not exactly proper. So I will say good-bye, Mr.–‘ “‘Say the name,’ says I. ‘You haven’t forgotten it.’

“‘Pescud,’ says she, a little mad.

“‘The rest of the name!’ I demands, cool as could be.

“‘John,’ says she.

“‘John-what?’ I says.

“‘John A.,’ says she, with her head high. ‘Are you through, now?’

“‘I’m coming to see the belted earl to-morrow,’ I says.

“‘He’ll feed you to his fox-hounds,’ says she, laughing.

“‘If he does, it’ll improve their running,’ says I. ‘I’m something of a hunter myself.’

“‘I must be going in now,’ says she. ‘I oughtn’t to have spoken to you at all. I hope you’ll have a pleasant trip back to Minneapolis — or Pittsburgh, was it? Good-bye!’

“‘Good-night,’ says I, ‘and it wasn’t Minneapolis. What’s your name, first, please?’

“She hesitated. Then she pulled a leaf off a bush, and said:

“‘My name is Jessie,’ says she.

“‘Good-night, Miss Allyn,’ says I.

“The next morning at eleven, sharp, I rang the door-bell of that World’s Fair main building. After about three-quarters of an hour an old nigger man about eighty showed up and asked what I wanted. I gave him my business card, and said I wanted to see the colonel. He showed me in.

“Say, did you ever crack open a wormy English walnut? That’s what that house was like. There wasn’t enough furniture in it to fill an eight-dollar flat. Some old horsehair lounges and three-legged chairs and some framed ancestors on the walls were all that met the eye. But when Colonel Allyn comes in, the place seemed to light up. You could almost hear a band playing, and see a bunch of old-timers in wigs and white stockings dancing a quadrille. It was the style of him, although he had on the same shabby clothes I saw him wear at the station.

“For about nine seconds he had me rattled, and I came mighty near getting cold feet and trying to sell him some plate-glass. But I got my nerve back pretty quick. He asked me to sit down, and I told him everything. I told him how I followed his daughter from Cincinnati, and what I did it for, and all about my salary and prospects, and explained to him my little code of living–to be always decent and right in your home town; and when you’re on the road, never take more than four glasses of beer a day or play higher than a twenty-five-cent limit. At first I thought he was going to throw me out of the window, but I kept on talking. Pretty soon I got a chance to tell him that story about the Western Congressman who had lost his pocket-book and the grass widow–you remember that story. Well, that got him to laughing, and I’ll bet that was the first laugh those ancestors and horsehair sofas had heard in many a day.