"I'm wool-gathering this morning. I'm afraid it's going to take me a day or two to get back into harness again." 

 "If you'd rather wait, if you think you'll be more fit to-morrow or the day after, we'll wait. There's no real hurry. I just thought——" 

 But Mrs. McChesney led the way across the hall that separated her office from her partner's. Halfway across, she stopped and surveyed the big, bright, busy main office, with its clacking typewriters and rustle and crackle of papers and its air of concentration. 

 "Why, you've run up a partition there between Miss Casey's desk and the workroom door, haven't you?" 

 "Yes; it's much better that way." 

 "Yes, of course. And—why, where are the boys' desks? Spalding's and Hutchinson's, and—they're all gone!"  She turned in amazement. 

 "Break it to me! Aren't we using traveling men any more?" 

 Buck laughed his low, pleasant laugh. 

 "Oh, yes; but I thought their desks belonged somewhere else than in the main office. They're now installed in the little room between the shop and Healy's office. Close quarters, but better than having them out here where they were inclined to neglect their reports in order to shine in the eyes of that pretty new stenographer. There are one or two other changes. I hope you'll approve of them." 

 "I'm sure I shall," replied Emma McChesney, a little stiffly. 

 In Buck's office, she settled back in her chair to watch him as he arranged neat sheaves of papers for her inspection. Her eyes traveled from his keen, eager face to the piles of paper and back again. 

 "Tell me, did you hit it off with the Ella Sweeneys and the Sadie Harrises of the great Middle West? Is business as bad as the howlers say it is? You said something last night about a novelty bifurcated skirt. Was that the new designer's idea? How have the early buyers taken to it?" 

 Buck crooked an elbow over his head in self-defense. 

 "Stop it! You make me feel like Rheims cathedral. Don't bombard until negotiations fail." 

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