Mrs. Larsen was a very queer woman. When she came in she _bristled_--do you know what I mean by that? Well, whenever any one said anything to her she bristled all up, as if there was going to be an argument. When she came into the house and Larsen introduced me, I said: "How do you do, Mrs. Larsen?" "How do you do, Mr. Black?" she replied sharply, and the way she said it conveyed the idea that she was absolutely on the defensive. I went into the kitchen, later, while Betty was there, and I said to her: "What is the matter with Mrs. Larsen?" "I don't know. Doesn't she act queerly?" "She doesn't like us for some reason or other." "Has Larsen ever said anything about it?" "Never a word." "Why not tell her how much you think of Larsen, and how lucky you feel to have him as your manager?" suggested Betty. "I see. Soft-soap the old girl. All right." I had to hurry back into the room then, because I couldn't leave my guests for long. In a few minutes I was talking to Mrs. Larsen about the hard time we had had when I bought the business. "I don't know what I would have done if it hadn't been for your husband, Mrs. Larsen. I certainly think I'm lucky to have him, and I know he thinks he's lucky to have you!" "So you think that you are lucky to have my husband working for you, do you, Mr. Black?" she asked. "Yes, indeed; he is a mighty fine man, and I think a lot of him, Mrs. Larsen." I spoke with all sincerity. "Do you know how old my husband is?" "Why, n-no. How old is he?" I couldn't see any reason for her question, which was asked in the same frigid manner, but I responded with polite interest. "Fifty-four," was her response. "Is he that old?" I was floundering, for I felt that I had altogether missed my aim in trying to pacify her. "Yes, fifty-five next January. . . . And after forty years' work he is very valuable to a hardware store--so valuable that he gets twenty dollars a week!" Hadn't I got my foot into it! "T-that's nothing like your husband's real value, Mrs. Larsen," I stuttered, "b-but you know I've only had the store about six months and I had some very heavy losses at the beginning." "So my husband should bear your loss, is that it?" I was getting angry and was about to make some tart rejoinder; but, just as I was about to speak, I felt Betty's hand on my shoulder. She had quietly come into the room and heard Mrs. Larsen's last remark. To my surprise, Betty took over the conversation. "Just what I was telling Mr. Black," she said sweetly. "I told him that, if he ever expected to get people to work whole-heartedly with him, he would have to let them share in his profits." "And his losses?" broke in Mrs. Larsen.