"You like to dance pretty well, don't you?" he said.
"When I've got business to attend to," Miss Levy replied frigidly, "I don't like anything."
"But I mean I seen you at the I.O.M.A.'s racket last night," Milton continued, "and you seemed to be having a pretty good time."
Miss Levy suppressed a yawn.
"Don't mention it," she said; "I feel like a rag to-day. I didn't get home till four o'clock."
This was something like friendly discourse, and Milton slackened up on his work.
"Who was that feller with the curly hair you was dancing with?" he began, when Miss Levy looked up and noted the cessation of his labour.
"Never you mind who he was, Milton," she answered. "You finish licking those envelopes."
At this juncture they heard the sample-room door open and a heavy footstep sound on its carpeted floor.
"Wait here," she hissed. "It's a customer, and everybody's out to lunch. What's your other name, Milton?"