"Talking of fleeting visions, ain’t it about your dinner hour?" "You act to me as if this was your first job," was his answer, sort of thoughtful. Wouldn’t it make you smile! It did me—a small quiet smile all to myself. He saw it, dropped his head to one side and said, as smooth and sweet as molasses: "What do they call you, little one?" It was all I could do to keep from laughing, but I crumpled up my forehead into a scowl and looked cross at him: "What my name is you’ll never know and what yours is you needn’t tell me for I’ve guessed. I’ve met members of your tribe before—it’s large and prominent—the ancient and honorable order of jackasses." He made me a low bow. "So flattered at this speedy recognition," he says, airy and smiling. "You may know the tribe, but not the individual. Permit me to introduce myself—Anthony Ford." I gave a start and turned it into a stretch. So _this_ was the wonderful Tony Ford—a slick customer all right. "That don’t convey anything to my mind," I answered. "A rose by any other name still has its thorns." "For more data—I’m the managing clerk of the Azalea Woods Estates, see seventeenth floor, first door to your left." "Ain’t I heard you were closed up there?" "We are. This may be the last time you’ll ever see me, so look well at me. Er—what did you say your name was?" "One of the unemployed!" I said, falling back in my chair and rolling my eyes up at the ceiling. "Hangs round my switchboard and hasn’t the price of a dinner in his jeans." "I was too hasty," said he; "this isn’t your first job." "If your place is shut what are you doing here—not at this present moment, the actions of fools are an old story to me—but in the building?" "Closing up the business. Did you think I was nosing round for an unlocked door or an open safe? Does this fresh, innocent countenance look like the mug of a burglar?" He grinned and thrusting a hand into his pocket rattled the loose silver there. "Hear that? Has a sound like a dinner, hasn’t it?" _That_ made me mad—the vain fool thinking he could flirt with me as he had with Iola. I slanted a side look at him and his broad shining face with the eyes that didn’t match it gave me a feeling like I longed to slap it good and hard. Gee, I’d have loved to feel my hand come _whang_ up against one of those fat cheeks! But it’s the curse of being a perfect lady that you can’t hit when you feel like it—except with your tongue. "I ain’t known many burglars," I answered, "but now that I look at you it _does_ come over me that you’ve a family resemblance to those few I’ve met. Seeing which I’ll decline the honor of your invitation. Safety first." That riled him. He flushed up and a surly look passed over his face making it ugly. Then he shrugged up his shoulders and leaned off the doorpost, giving a hitch to the front of his coat.