It took me a long time to reach that drug-store--a short block away--buy the stamps, “lick ’em,” stick them on the envelopes and drop those three letters into the mail-box just outside the druggist’s door. At any rate, the ladies so informed me when I got back. They did it politely, kindly, but very _plainly_. Not wishing to scarify their feelings by admitting that I had purposely loitered because of an inherent or pre-natal dislike of teas, I did what I thought was the proper thing to do under the stress of impinging circumstances--I lied like a gentleman. I told the ladies that the druggist happened to be out of two-cent stamps and had sent out for them--sent to another drug store for them. “How unfortunate!” exclaimed one of the party. “We want a lot more stamps. We have each written for a sample of these new biscuits. We have to enclose ten cents in stamps and the letters will have to be stamped. That’s eighty-four cents in stamps and we want to get the letters into the mail tonight.” Then I was shown the advertisement of the desired “biscuits.” In the good old summer time of our earthly residence, “when life and love were young,” we called such mercantile pastry “crackers.” Mother baked all the biscuits we then ate, or somebody else’s mother baked them. Of course, sometimes Mary, Susie, Annie, Jane or another of the dear girls learned the trick and could “bake as good as mother.” Then she baked the biscuits. And they _were_ biscuits. Now, every _cracker_ is a biscuit, and every biscuit one gets smells and tastes of the bakeshop where it was foundried. But that is entirely aside from our subject. The “ad”--a full page--set forth the super-excellence of some recently invented or devised cracker--“biscuit,” if you prefer so to call it. It was an attractively designed and well-written “ad.” The advertiser offered to send a regular-size package of the “biscuits” to anyone on receipt of ten cents in stamps--“enough to cover the postage”--and the name of the grocer with whom the sender of the stamps traded. That, in brief, was the “ad” offer, and each of the ladies wanted those biscuits--my boss as anxious to sample them as any of the others. On a corner of the luncheon table in symmetrical, pyramidal array, was 84 cents in miscellaneous change. Before it came my turn to speak, Mrs. M. On The L. gave me a scrutinizing look--a censorious look--a look that said, “I know where you have been,” and took the floor. She did not rise in taking it either. “Oh, he can get the stamps. Take that change and these letters. You can go to some other drug store and get the stamps. Put ten cents in stamps in each envelope and then seal and mail the letters.” That’s the speech the boss made.