Mrs. Payson would glance up. There was nothing absent-minded about the glance. For the moment her attention was all on Lottie. "Sit down. Wait a minute." "I'll come back." "Wait." Lottie waited. Finally, "Aunt Charlotte will be wondering----" "We're through now." She would sit back in her desk chair, her hands busy with the papers, her eyes on her client. "Now, if you'll come in again on Monday, say, at about this time, I'll have the abstract for you, and the trust deed. In the meantime I'll get in touch with Spielbauer----" She would rise, as would her client, a man, usually. With the conclusion of the business in hand she effected a quick change of manner; became the woman in business instead of the business woman. Sometimes the client happened to be an old time acquaintance, in which case Carrie Payson would put a hand on Lottie's shoulder. "This is my baby." The client would laugh genially, "Quite a baby!" This before the word had taken on its slang significance. "I wouldn't know what to do without her," Mrs. Payson would say. "I have to be here all day." "Yes, they're a great help. Great help. Well--see you Monday, Mrs. Payson. Same time. If you'll just see Spielbauer----" The door closed, Mrs. Payson would turn again to Lottie. "What was the girl doing when you left?" "Why--she was still ironing." "How far had she got?" "All the fancy things. She was beginning on the sheets." "Well, I should think so! At that hour." Lottie turned toward the door. "Aunt Charlotte'll be waiting." Mrs. Payson must have a final thumb on the clay. "Be very careful crossing the streets." And yet there was pride and real affection in her eyes as she looked after the sturdy vigorous figure speeding down the corridor toward the elevator. Once, when Lottie returned to the oculist's after a longer absence than usual Aunt Charlotte had gone. "How long?" The attendant thought it must be fifteen minutes. Chicago's downtown streets, even to the young and the keen-sighted, were a maelstrom dotted at intervals by blue-uniformed figures who held up a magic arm and blew a shrill blast just when a swirl and torrent of drays, cabs, street-cars, and trucks with plunging horses threatened completely to engulf them. Added to this was the thunderous roar of the Wabash Avenue L trains. Even when the crossing was comparatively safe and clear the deafening onrush of a passing L train above always caused Aunt Charlotte to scuttle back to the curb from which she was about to venture forth. The roar seemed to be associated in her mind with danger; it added to her confusion. Leading a horse out of a burning barn was play compared with ushering Aunt Charlotte across a busy downtown street. "Just let me take my time," she would say, tremulously but stubbornly immovable. "But Aunt Charlotte if we don't go now we'll be here forever. Now's the time."