"Oh yes, fun enough, of its kind." Masters laughed. "Like a sailor in every port, a drummer tries to have a sweetheart in every town. It makes life endurable; sometimes the dear little things meet you at the train with sweet-smelling flowers and embroidered neckties so long that you have to cut off the ends or double them. Have a cigar—they don’t cost me a red cent; expense account stretches like elastic, you know. My house kicked once against my drinking and cigar entries, and I said, all right, I’d sign the pledge and they could tie a blue ribbon on me, if they said the word, but that half my trade, I’d discovered, never could see prices right except through smoke and over a bottle. Then, what do you think? Old man Creighton, head of the firm, deacon in a swell joss-house in Atlanta, winked, drew a long face, and said: ’You’ll have to give the boy _some_ freedom, I reckon. We are in this thing to pull it through, boys, and sometimes we may have to fight fire with fire or be left stranded.’" "He’s an up-to-date old fellow," Chester laughed. "I’ve seen him. He owns some fine horses. When a man does that he’s apt to be progressive, no matter how many times he says his prayers a day." "Yes, for an old duck, Creighton keeps at the head of the procession. I can generally get him to help me out when I get in a tight. He thinks I’m a good salesman. Once, by the skin of my teeth, I sold the champion bill in the history of the house. A new firm was setting up in business in Augusta, and I stocked three floors for them. It tickled old man Creighton nearly to death, for they say he walked the floor all night when the thing was hanging fire. There was a pile of profit in it, and it meant more, even, than the mere sale, for Nashville, Memphis, New Orleans, and Louisville men were as thick as flies on the spot. When I wired the news in the firm did a clog-dance in the office, and they were all at the train to meet me, with plug-hats on, and raised sand generally. Old Creighton drew me off to one side and wanted to know how I did it. I told him it was just a trick of mine, and tried to let it go at that, but he pushed me close, and I finally told him the truth. It came about over a game of poker I was playing with the head of the new firm. If I lost I was to pay him a hundred dollars. If he lost I was to get the order. He lost. I think I learned that ’palming’ trick from you." Langdon laughed impulsively as he lighted the drummer’s cigar. "And what did the old man say to that?" he inquired. "It almost floored him." Masters smiled. "He laid his hand on my shoulder. His face was as serious as I’ve seen it when he was praying in the amen corner at church, but the old duck’s eyes were blazing. ’Fred,’ he said, ’I want you to promise me to let that one thing alone—but, good gracious, if Memphis had sold that bill it would have hurt us awfully!’"