Jock McChesney finished his huge breakfast, strolled over to Sulzberg & Stein's, and inquired his way to the office only to find that his mother was not yet there. There were three men in the little waiting-room. One of them was Fat Ed Meyers. His huge bulk overflowed the spindle-legged chair on which he sat. His brown derby was in his hands. His eyes were on the closed door at the other side of the room. So were the eyes of the other two travelers. Jock took a vacant seat next to Fat Ed Meyers so that he might, in his mind's eye, pick out a particularly choice spot upon which his hard young fist might land--if only he had the chance. Breaking up a man's sleep like that, the great big overgrown mutt! "What's your line?" said Ed Meyers, suddenly turning toward Jock. Prompted by some imp--"Skirts," answered Jock. "Ladies' petticoats." ("As if men ever wore 'em!" he giggled inwardly.) Ed Meyers shifted around in his chair so that he might better stare at this new foe in the field. His little red mouth was open ludicrously. "Who're you out for?" he demanded next. There was a look of Emma McChesney on Jock's face. "Why--er--the Union Underskirt and Hosiery Company of Chicago. New concern." "Must be," ruminated Ed Meyers. "I never heard of 'em, and I know 'em all. You're starting in young, ain't you, kid! Well, it'll never hurt you. You'll learn something new every day. Now me, I----" In breezed Emma McChesney. Her quick glance rested immediately upon Meyers and the boy. And in that moment some instinct prompted Jock McChesney to shake his head, ever so slightly, and assume a blankness of expression. And Emma McChesney, with that shrewdness which had made her one of the best salesmen on the road, saw, and miraculously understood. "How do, Mrs. McChesney," grinned Fat Ed Meyers. "You see I beat you to it." "So I see," smiled Emma, cheerfully. "I was delayed. Just sold a nice little bill to Watkins down the street." She seated herself across the way, and kept her eyes on that closed door. "Say, kid," Meyers began, in the husky whisper of the fat man, "I'm going to put you wise to something, seeing you're new to this game. See that lady over there?" He nodded discreetly in Emma McChesney's direction. "Pretty, isn't she?" said Jock, appreciatively. "Know who she is?" "Well--I--she does look familiar, but----" "Oh, come now, quit your bluffing. If you'd ever met that dame you'd remember it. Her name's McChesney--Emma McChesney, and she sells T. A. Buck's Featherloom Petticoats. I'll give her her dues; she's the best little salesman on the road. I'll bet that girl could sell a ruffled, accordion-plaited underskirt to a fat woman who was trying to reduce. She's got the darndest way with her. And at that she's straight, too."