"How do you do, Mr. Bingham? I haven't had the pleasure of meetin' you before; but I always make it a point to call on strangers when they come to town. It must be awful lonesome when you first arrive and don't know a livin' soul. I hope your wife is tolerable well." Bingham gradually pulled himself together and turned very red, as he replied: "Thanks! But my wife doesn't live here. It's awful kind of you, I'm sure; but you'll find my wife in the third house beyond the bakery, down two blocks--turn to the right. She'll be glad to see you." "That's good," Hepsey responded, "but you see I don't have much to do on Thursdays, and I'll just have a little visit with you, now I'm here. Fine day, isn't it." Mrs. Burke drew up a chair and sat down, adjusted her feet comfortably to the rung of another chair, and pulled out her knitting from her work-bag, much to the consternation of the proprietor of the place. "How nice you've got things fixed up, Mr. Bingham," Hepsey remarked, gazing serenely at the seductive variety of bottles and glasses, and the glare of mirrors behind the bar. "Nothin' like havin' a fine lookin' place to draw trade. Is business prosperin' now-a-days?" Silas turned three shades redder, and stammered badly as he replied: "Yes, I'm doin' as well as I can expect--er--I suppose." "Probably as well as your customers are doin', I should imagine? You don't need to get discouraged. It takes time to work up a trade like yours in a nice, decent neighborhood like this." Silas stared hard at the unwelcome intruder, glancing apprehensively at the door from which several customers had already turned away when, through the glass, they had caught sight of Mrs. Burke. He was desperately ill at ease, and far from responding cordially to Hepsey's friendly advances; and his nervousness increased as his patrons continually retreated, occasionally grinning derisively at him through the glass in the door. "If you don't mind my sayin' it, Mrs. Burke, I think you'd be a lot more comfortable at my house than you are here." "Oh, I'm perfectly comfortable, thanks; perfectly comfortable. Don't you worry a bit about me." "But this is a saloon, and it 'aint just what you might call respectable for ladies to be sittin' in a saloon, now, is it?" "_Why not?_" The question was so sudden, sharp and unexpected that Silas jumped and almost knocked over a bottle of gin, and then stared in silent chagrin at his guest, his nervous lips moving without speech.