ted
feebly.

"Yes; I know. We all have; but there's such a thing as overdoing this
duty to the firm. You get up at six to-morrow morning and slap off
those letters. They'll come easier and sound less tired."

They made for the lift; but at its very gates:

"Hello, little girl!" cried a masculine voice; and a detaining hand was
laid on Ella Morrissey's plump shoulder.

That lady recognised the voice and the greeting before she turned to
face their source. Max Tack, junior partner in the firm of Tack
Brothers, Lingerie and Infants' Wear, New York, held out an eager hand.

"Hello, Max!" said Miss Morrissey not too cordially. "My, aren't you
dressy!"

He was undeniably dressy--not that only, but radiant with the
self-confidence born of good looks, of well-fitting evening clothes, of
a fresh shave, of glistening nails. Max Tack, of the hard eye and the
soft smile, of the slim figure and the semi-bald head, of the flattering
tongue and the business brain, bent his attention full on the very plain
Miss Sophy Gold.

"Aren't you going to introduce me?" he demanded.

Miss Morrissey introduced them, buyer fashion--names, business
connection, and firms.

"I knew you were Miss Gold," began Max Tack, the honey-tongued. "Some
one pointed you out to me yesterday. I've been trying to meet you ever
since."

"I hope you haven't neglected your business," said Miss Gold without
enthusiasm.

Max Tack leaned closer, his tone lowered.

"I'd neglect it any day for you. Listen, little one: aren't you going
to take dinner with me some evening?"

Max Tack always called a woman "Little one." It was part of his business
formula. He was only one of the wholesalers who go to Paris yearly
ostensibly to buy models, but really to pay heavy diplomatic court to
those hundreds of women buyers who flock to that city in the interests
of their firms. To entertain those buyers who were interested in goods
such as he manufactured in America; to win their friendship; to make
them feel under obligation at least to inspect his line when they came
to New York--that was Max Tack's mission in Paris. He performed it
admirably.

"What evening?" he said now. "How about to-morrow?" Sophy Gold shook her
head. "Wednesday then? You stick to me and you'll see Paris. Thursday?"

"I'm buying my own dinners," said Sophy Gold.

Max Tack wagged a chiding forefinger at her.

"You little rascal!" No one had ever called Sophy Gold a little rascal
before. "You