"Sixteen dollars' worth," he said. "I think by keeping at it we'll get lots of new business. Remember old Seldom?—well," (Seldom was a real estate man and quite well-to-do) "he saw me coming in and came out of his office to me. He made me go to Traglio's and gave me a cigar. Then he said, 'There's nothing I'm wanting, Larsen, but step over to the house; I'll tell the missus you are coming over.' Well, Boss, I go to the house and see her. She had a mail-order catalog and was making out an order. She's good-natured and fat. She make me cup of tea. She showed me order to go to Chicago."
"What was it for?" I asked Larsen.
"A bread mixer, for one thing," said Larsen, grinning.
I remembered my bread-mixer episode, so I said: "Well, why didn't she come here for it? Goodness knows we advertised them enough."
"That's what she said. She said it advertised too much. She thought if she bought one she get her name in paper or something."
"Why, that's nonsense," I remonstrated.
"That's what she said of the ad," said Larsen.
"Oh, well, forget it," I cried peevishly. "Did you get an order from her?"
"The only one I did get. Here it is—sixteen dollars! I try to sell her pencil sharpener, but she say, 'That's a man's buy.' I'll sell Seldom one for her."
"Didn't any of the other people you called on want anything?"