trip was to be spent on a flying visit to young Jock McChesney out in Chicago. He himself was to be married very soon. Emma McChesney had rather startled her very good-looking husband-to-be by whirling about at him with, 

 "T. A., do you realize that you're very likely to be a step-grandfather some fine day not so far away!" 

 T. A. had gazed at her for a rather shocked moment, swallowed hard, smiled, and said, 

 "Even that doesn't scare me, Emma." 

 Everything had been planned down to the last detail.  Mrs. McChesney's little apartment had been subleased, and a very smart one taken and furnished almost complete, with Annie installed in the kitchen and a demure parlor-maid engaged. 

 "When we come back, we'll come home," T. A. Buck had said. "Home!" 

 There had been much to do, but it had all been done smoothly and expertly, under the direction of these two who had learned how to plan, direct, and carry out. 

 Then, on the last day, Emma McChesney, visibly perturbed, entered her partner's office, a letter in her hand. 

 "This is ghastly!" she exclaimed. 

 Buck pulled out a chair for her. 

 "Klein cancel his order again?" 

 "No. And don't ask me to sit down. Be thankful that I don't blow up." 

 "Is it as bad as that?" 

 "Bad! Here—read that! No, don't read it; I'll tell you. It'll relieve my feelings. You know how I've been angling and scheming and contriving and plotting for years to get an exclusive order from Gage & Fosdick. Of course we've had a nice little order every few months, but what's that from the biggest mail-order house in the world? And now, out of a blue sky, comes this bolt from O'Malley, who buys our stuff, saying that he's coming on the tenth—that's next week—that he's planned to establish our line with their trade, and that he wants us to be prepared for a record-breaking order. I've fairly prayed for this. And now—what shall we do?" 

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