He turned his bland smile on Josie. He was a short, thickset man with a German cast of countenance. He spoke with a stronger German accent than did Kasker. Though his face persistently smiled, his eyes were half closed and shrewd. When he looked at her, Josie gave a little shudder and slightly drew back.
"Ah, that's a wrong guess," said Mr. Kauffman quickly. "I must beg your pardon, my girl. But I meant a compliment to you both. Accept my card, please," and he drew it from his pocket and handed it to her with a bow.
Josie glanced at it:
"KAUFFMAN SUSPENDER COMPANY,
Chicago.
Abe Kauffman, President."
"My business does not interest ladies," he went on in a light tone meant to be jovial. "But with the men—ah!—with the men it's a hold-up game. Ha, ha, hee! One of our trade jokes. It's an elastic business; Kauffman's suspenders keep their wearers in suspense. Ha, ha; pretty good, eh?"
"Do you ever sell any?" asked Josie curiously.
"Do I? Do I, Jake? Ha, ha! But not so many now; the war has ruined the suspender business, like everything else. Kasker can tell you that, miss."
"Kasker won't, though," asserted Jake in a surly tone. The girl, however, was now on another scent.
"Don't you like the war, then?" Josie asked the salesman.
"Like it?" the eyes half opened with a flash. "Who likes war, then? Does humanity, which bears the burden? For me—myself—I'll say war is a good thing, but I won't tell you why or how I profit by it; I'll only say war is a curse to humanity and if I had the power I'd stop it tomorrow—to-day—this very hour! And, at that, I'd lose by it."