Then a truce prevailed between these erstwhile comrades until—the ever to be expected—the Unexpected—happened.
CHAPTER II.
MISS SHEETS IS SHE.
She was radiantly, ‘wilderingly beautiful.
She was tall and lissom, leopard-jointed and swift.
She was one of those dulcet-toned, tawny peroxides, an houri, for whom the synonym is “havoc.”
Chicago spoke in her every tone and gesture. Her movements were meteoric. Her eyes were X-rays. Her smile was sheet-lightning. She was alert, trim and tailor-made. Her very presence breathed the richness and aroma of her stock-yards training. The Spirit of Chicago, “I WILL,” pulsed through her veins. “Push and Pull” was her motto. “Get there” was her creed.
Whoever is familiar with the fatal fascinations of a Chicago Typewriter can gauge the gait of the Kankakee pulse when Miss Imogene Silesia Sheets, late of the great packing house of Harmor & Co., was precipitated into the midst of that suburban society.