I was glad to find the goods of excellent quality and reasonable in price. She gave me a few talking points for each article, told me how much cash I should demand or about how much I could expect in trade. Trading, she observed, was an art in itself and worthy of much study. Stock was replenished by frequent orders to Chicago, the goods being consigned to the larger towns along the route. Thus she would find a fresh supply awaiting her at Sydney, Nebraska, and would there place an order to be shipped to Cheyenne, Wyoming. I had familiarised myself with the most important details when we approached a good-sized farmhouse. “Come in and watch me work this time, and at the next place you can try it yourself,” she remarked, swinging the mules into the driveway. A weary-looking woman opened the door at our knock and brightened with interest when she learned of our errand. She led the way to the closely shut parlour, and flung open the old-fashioned blinds as Mrs. Adams prepared her goods for inspection. After long consideration she laid down the case with a sigh. “I’d just love to buy some of these things, but I haven’t a cent in the house. My husband is working way over in the back lot and anyhow I’d hate to bother him.” “Now, maybe you’d like to trade for what you want. I would be glad to get some good, smooth potatoes or nice fresh vegetables if you have any to spare.” “Oh, could I do that?” Her voice was eager as a child’s. “Come right into the kitchen and see what you would like.” Inside of half an hour we were back in the wagon with a fine assortment of vegetables. In fact, it seemed to me that we had much the best of the bargain. In answer to some such observation, Mrs. Adams chuckled. “When I saw how that woman had been trained, I led her right along. She has no idea of the value of money or of produce either. How can she, when her husband never allows her a cent of spending money? The kind of women who must always beg for every calico dress and pair of shoes, go wild when they have a chance to trade for themselves. You should do as much business as possible with them—take anything they have—get flour or sugar if there is nothing else on hand. String ’em along and you can get a wagon load of groceries for a dollar’s worth of goods.” Privately registering a determination to do nothing of the kind, I observed, “I should think their husbands would find out about that sort of thing and make trouble.” “Don’t worry, we’d be well out of the way before they could find out anything about the business.” “I wasn’t thinking about you and me, but about the farmer’s wife. Seems to me she has troubles enough without our adding to her burdens.”