PAGE 6
Representing T. A. Buck
by
“You’re the third man that’s asked me that to-day,” snapped Emma McChesney, somewhat crossly. “Say, what do I look like, anyway? I guess I’ll have to pin a white ribbon on my coat lapel.”
“No offense,” put in the fat man, with haste. “I just thought it would bind our bargain. I hope you’ll be happy, and contented, and all that, you know.”
“Let it go double,” replied Emma McChesney, and shook his hand.
“Guess I’ll run down and get a smoke,” remarked he.
He ran down the stairs in a manner wonderfully airy for one so stout. Emma watched him until he disappeared around a bend in the stairs. Then she walked hastily in the direction of sixty-five.
Down in the lobby the fat man, cigar in mouth, was cautioning the clerk, and emphasizing his remarks with one forefinger.
“I want to leave a call for six thirty,” he was saying. “Not a minute later. I’ve got to get out of here on that 7:35 for DeKalb. Got a Sunday customer there.”
As he turned away a telephone bell tinkled at the desk. The clerk bent his stately head.
“Clerk. Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am, there’s no train out of here to-night for DeKalb. To-morrow morning. Seven thirty-five A.M. I sure will. At six-thirty? Surest thing you know.”