“Well, for one thing,” she answered, glancing at him scornfully, “I’d be afraid, Mr. Hines, that on the way you might try to intimidate me into buying a ticket for the Coggswell Association’s outing.” “Gee!” he said to himself, “she must have overheard what I said to her boss inside.” Aloud he said earnestly: “You needn’t be afraid of that. I’d make you a present of all the tickets you want, honeybud. Tell me another reason why I can’t make a date with you.” “Because I don’t make engagements with strangers,” said Dallas haughtily. “Please close the door as you go out.” “It ain’t my fault that I’m a stranger,” said Mr. Hines plaintively, taking no notice of the hint. “I’m doin’ my best to get acquainted. Say, give it to me straight, little one--am I on a busy wire? Is there any other feller ahead of me?” “There is!” declared Dallas, with great emphasis. “And even if there weren’t----” “Then I’m sorry for him,” the young man interrupted. “Sorry! Why?” she asked, in astonishment. “Because I’m goin’ to take his girl away from him. I don’t know who the feller is; but whoever he is, he ain’t good enough for you. I never took much stock before in all this talk about fallin’ in love at first sight, but, honest, kid, you’ve hit me straight between the eyes. The minute I came in here and saw you sittin’ at that typewriter, I----” “Will you please close that door on the outside?” interrupted Dallas, pointing impatiently toward the street door. “I’ve got a lot of work to do, and if you don’t get out of here immediately, I shall have to call Mr. Sammis.” “Oh, very well,” said Mr. Hines, somewhat crestfallen. “I guess that’s a hint for me to be goin’. So long, girlie. I’ll drop in again some other time when you ain’t quite so busy. “Gee!” he said to himself as he reached the sidewalk, “I certainly am hard hit. I do believe that I’ve actually fallen in love with that peach--and I don’t even know her name.” A short distance up the avenue he encountered Carrier Greene. “Hello, Jake,” said the postman; “didn’t I see you in Sammis’ real-estate office a few minutes ago, talking to Sheridan’s girl?” “Whose girl?” demanded the politician quickly. “What Sheridan do you mean?” “Owen Sheridan--the carrier that used to have this route,” answered Greene. “Don’t you know that he’s keeping company with that typewriter girl? It’s a fact. She almost cried, the other morning, when I came in and told her that Sheridan didn’t have this route any more. I understand that they’re going to be married soon.” “I don’t believe it,” growled Hines. “A queen like that goin’ to marry a twelve-dollar-a-week carrier? It ain’t possible.”