I'll miss my boat. Just time to make Brooklyn. Suppose you write 'em." 

 That Ed Meyers might know nothing of her sudden plans, she had kept the trip secret. Besides Buck and the office staff, her son Jock was the only one who knew. But she found her cabin stocked like a prima donna's on a farewell tour. There were boxes of flowers, a package of books, baskets of fruit, piles of magazines, even a neat little sheaf of telegrams, one from the faithful bookkeeper, one from the workroom foreman, two from salesmen long in the firm's employ, two from Jock in Chicago. She read them, her face glowing. He and Buck had vied with each other in supplying her with luxuries that would make pleasanter the twenty-three days of her voyage. 

 She looked about the snug cabin, her eyes suddenly misty. Buck poked his head in at the door. 

 "Come on up on deck, Emma; I've only a few minutes left." 

 She snatched a pink rose from the box, and together they went on deck. 

 "Just ten minutes," said Buck. He was looking down at her. "Remember, Emma, nothing that concerns the firm's business, however big, is half as important as the things that concern you personally, however small. I realize what this trip will mean to us, if it pans, and if you can beat Meyers to it. But if anything should happen to you, why——" 

 "Nothing's going to happen, T. A., except that I'll probably come home with my complexion ruined. I'll feel a great deal more at home talking pidgin-English to Senor Alvarez in Buenos Aires than you will talking Featherlooms to Miss Skirt-Buyer in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. But remember this, T. A.:  When you get to know—really to know—the Sadie Harrises and the Sammy Blochs and the Ella Sweeneys of this world, you've learned just about all there is to know about human beings. Quick—the gangplank! Goodby, T. A." 

 The dock reached, he gazed up at her as she leaned far over the railing. He made a megaphone of his hands. 

 "I feel like an old maid who's staying home with her knitting," he called. 

 The boat began to move. Emma McChesney passed a quick hand over her eyes. 

 "Don't drop any stitches, T. A."  With unerring aim she flung the big pink rose straight at him. 

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