The other trade in the city I attended to carefully, and was well satisfied with my work. In the evening I started for C. As I went into the car there were three men at one end talking rather loud and sociably, and I went as near to them as I dared. One of them had lately been out to Denver and that section, and was describing to his audience the wonderful perpendicular railroads of Colorado, I soon found that all three were connected with boots and shoes, but handling different grades or styles, so they did not conflict. Of course they were from Boston, and equally of course they were rather priggish. The talker was not more than 22 or 23 years old, but the immense experience he had passed through was more than wonderful, and the old chestnuts he got off as having happened to himself were beyond Eli Perkins' power of adaptation. “I had a customer in Peoria,” I heard him say, “who picked up a goat shoe and said 'he supposed dat was apout tree sefenty-fife.' I told him it was $5.25. 'O, tear, tear,' said he, 'can't you make him four tollar? Shake dells me: Fader, ton't you puy ofer four tollar. You should see my Shake; he is only dwendy-dwo, but he got a young head on old shoulters.' I told him that, seeing it was he, I would make the price $5, and he ordered twenty-four pairs.” He told this as if it was the most comical story ever heard, and he laughed both long and loud over it, as did his two friends. “When are you going home?” one asked him. “Next week; been out over two months; had a big trip, but I don't expect to do any more traveling.” “No! Why not?” “I'm going to be married.” “No! Who to? Are you telling the truth?” “Yes, I am; honest; going to marry the boss's daughter. She and I used to go to school together, and I honestly believe she made the advances to me, rather than I to her. Oh, yes; I'm all fixed; going to stay in the office and help the boss.” I wondered what kind of a girl the “boss's” daughter could be, to marry such an ass as this, and I would have been glad to see the photograph of her that he passed to his friends, but I made up my mind that the “boss” was getting a rare prize in a son-in-law. Sitting in the smoking room of the hotel that evening I heard some men mention names that were familiar to me, and I discovered the talker to be a groceryman. “If our goods are close,” said he, “the sales are large and folks have to buy. I heard H. K. Thurber say that the best year's business that he ever did was on a net profit of 1-3/4 percent.” “Phew! How much did he sell?” “Eighteen or twenty millions.” “I've been in Thurber's store,” said another, “and I tell you they have things down fine. I think H. K. Thurber had the best head on him of any man I ever saw. He was quick as lightning; his judgment was good; he had no soft spot for any one, and he didn't tell his plans to any one. But Frank, his brother, seems to be just as successful, and yet is very different.” “He's the politician, isn't he?”