"Yes, the lady is in, and I'm in, and you are out!" she snapped; "and now I don't want to stand here talking to a fly-trap agent any longer! Come lift your boots!"
"I'm not an agent," he said, trying to smile. "I'm the new—"
"Yes, I know you—you are the new man with the patent flat-iron, but we don't want any, and you'd better go before I call the dog."
"Will you give the lady my card, and say that I called?"
"No, I won't; we are bored to death with cards and handbills and circulars. Come, I can't stand here all day."
"Didn't you know that I was a minister?" he asked as he backed off.
"No, nor I don't know it now; you look like the man who sold the woman next door a dollar chromo for eighteen shillings."
"But here is my card."
"I don't care for cards, I tell you! If you leave that gate open I will have to fling a flower-pot at you!"
"I will call again," he said, as he went through the gate.