When we got to the Convention it seemed that Barlow knew everybody, and he appeared to be very popular.
A fussy little man, named Minker, who seemed to have something to say to every one, introduced himself to me, and we had some conversation. He asked me where I came from, and I told him.
"Oh," he said, "then you know Barlow?"
"Very well, indeed," I replied. "In fact, I used to work for him."
"If he was as fine a boss as he is a president, you were certainly fortunate," he returned.
"President of what?" I asked, in surprise.
He looked blank. "Why," he said, "president of the association!"
"I didn't know he had ever been president of the association!" I exclaimed. "He never said anything about it to us!"
"Hm!" he said, as he looked at me over his glasses. "Don't you ever read your trade papers?"
I felt a little bit small when I replied: