"Oh, is that so," Miss Palmer essayed, with much spirit. "Do you suppose, that with me teaching in the schools of this city for thirteen years--" and she had begun at twenty-two, so she told him once--"I do not know something! And if you infer that I haven't a hundred dollars, then you haven't become acquainted with Annie Palmer! Don't you worry about her, for she always has a roll convenient. And you never see any collectors coming here, and leaving without what they came for." She was very dignified now, as she went to the door to answer a knock. The room in which they sat opened into a small hallway, which was entered from the street by a glass door. It was at this open door, that a man stood, who, however, could not be seen from where Miss Palmer's company sat. He could be heard, though. And they, the company, couldn't help hearing. They were not eavesdropping. It was then that Wyeth learned Miss Palmer was vain. He could not help recalling, that if "no collectors went away without what they came for," it was because they expected nothing when they came. So, when Miss Palmer had completed her trite sentence and sallied forth to answer the knock, they could not help hearing her say very quickly, and with some embarrassment: "Oh, you are too early. Come back tomorrow. I have my books to deliver this afternoon, and will be ready for you tomorrow, so--" That was as far as she got. And her company could not be censured for overhearing the rest of it, that is, what the other made in reply. The chances are the other was not aware of their presence, a few feet away, but that is a matter for conjecture. Miss Palmer could be heard attempting to finish with him, without his words that came in a flow. She was nervous, but he would have his say, and so he said, cutting off her discourse: "I'm tired of this stalling, all this stalling you have been handing us for months. This has got to come to an end." "I'll bring it to the office, I--" "You'll do nothing of the kind, and you know you won't!" "I'll pay you tomorrow, sure, sure, sure!" Why didn't the man be a gentleman and go, go, go! Plainly Miss Palmer was dreadfully nervous, more, as she could be heard by those who were listening. She was plainly in agony. The collector was on the warpath, and went on relentlessly: "If you haven't made some disposition of it by Monday a week, get that stuff ready for the wagon," and a moment later his steps died away in the distance. For one moment, Wyeth saw the face of her friend, but he couldn't believe it! And still, when Miss Palmer returned and resumed her discussion with regard to buying homes, he would have sworn that the other had to smother very quickly a gleeful expression. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE "_I'll Brand You as a Faker_"