Thanksgiving Day: New Style
“She’s a trump!” muttered the clerk, with an admiring glance across the corridor; “the best drummer Warp & Woof ever had. She succeeded one of their New York men, and she beat his orders by forty thousand dollars the first year. And there’s no fooling about her either. She doesn’t try to mesmerize the customers, though she’s pretty enough to do that if she cared to. She simply makes them want the goods, and she sells so square that she doesn’t have any trouble coming back to the same people.”
“Is she a single woman?” I asked. Something in this inquiry amused the clerk. Then he said: “Well, they say she’s engaged to a drummer for Felt, Feathers & Co., and that if they ever manage to get into Chicago at the same time they will get married.”
One day in mid-Missouri a lean, brown, bare-footed boy was driving me across country to a railway station. Suddenly the boy said: “We ain’t goin’ t’ have no dog show.”
“No?” The boy shook his head. Presently he added: “And that girl’s dead sore on this town.”
“What girl?” I demanded.
The boy turned to me with a look of incredulity. “Didn’t you see ’er?”
“You don’t mean that girl in the blue dress that was at the hotel breakfast this morning?”
“That’s her, yes.”