“He knows you!” hissed Emma McChesney, entering with T. A. “Another ten on the rent.” The agent pulled up a shade, switched on a light, straightened an electric globe. T. A. Buck looked about at the bare white walls, at the bare polished floor, at the severe fireplace.
“I knew it couldn't last,” he said.
“If it did,” replied Emma McChesney good-naturedly, “I couldn't afford to live here,” and disappeared into the kitchen followed by the agent, who babbled ever and anon of views, of Hudsons, of express-trains, of parks, as is the way of agents from Fiftieth Street to One Hundred and 'Umpty-ninth.
T. A. Buck, feet spread wide, hands behind him, was left standing in the center of the empty living-room. He was leaning on his stick and gazing fixedly upward at the ornate chandelier. It was a handsome fixture, and boasted some of the most advanced ideas in modern lighting equipment. Yet it scarcely seemed to warrant the passionate scrutiny which T. A. Buck was bestowing upon it. So rapt was his gaze that when the telephone-bell shrilled unexpectedly in the hallway he started so that his stick slipped on the polished floor, and as Emma McChesney and the still voluble agent emerged from the kitchen the dignified head of the firm of T. A. Buck and Company presented an animated picture, one leg in the air, arms waving wildly, expression at once amazed and hurt.
Emma McChesney surveyed him wide-eyed. The agent, unruffled, continued to talk on his way to the telephone.
“It only looks small to you,” he was saying. “Fact is, most people think it's too large. They object to a big kitchen. Too much work.” He gave his attention to the telephone.
Emma McChesney looked troubled. She stood in the doorway, head on one side, as one who conjures up a mental picture.
“Come here,” she commanded suddenly, addressing the startled T. A. “You nagged until I had to take you along. Here's a chance to justify your coming. I want your opinion on the kitchen.”
“Kitchens,” announced T. A. Buck of the English clothes and the gardenia, “are my specialty,” and entered the domain of the gas-range and the sink.
Emma McChesney swept the infinitesimal room with a large gesture.