“Well—Mrs. Clemens is about as usual—I believe.”
“And the children—Miss Susie and little Clara?”
This was a bit startling. He knew their names! Still, that was easy to find out. He was a smart agent, wonderfully smart. He must be got rid of.
“The children are well, quite well,” and (pointing down at the pictures)—“We've got plenty like these. We don't want any more. No, we don't care for any more,” skilfully working his visitor toward the door as he talked.
The man, looking non-plussed—a good deal puzzled—allowed himself to be talked into the hall and toward the front door. Here he paused a moment:
“Mr. Clemens, will you tell me where Mr. Charles Dudley Warner lives?”
This was the chance! He would work him off on Charlie Warner. Perhaps Warner needed pictures.
“Oh, certainly, certainly! Right across the yard. I'll show you. There's a walk right through. You don't need to go around the front way at all. You'll find him at home, too, I'm pretty sure”; all the time working his caller out and down the step and in the right direction.
The visitor again extended his hand.
“Please remember me to Mrs. Clemens and the children.”