The next morning Coral Locknane—Myrtle’s best friend — came to the office, and I don’t know what all passed between the two, but it is pretty certain they didn’t discuss trifles. The three of us went to Kansas City on the noon train. I said to the girls, “Shall we go to Cady & Olmstead’s or to Jaccard’s?” I had been to both places on my last trip, and I knew they had just the right quality of sparklers to tickle a girl’s heart—now that I knew how a girl would react. But Myrtle, feeling pretty sure of herself, and in high good humor, said quite emphatically, “Neither.” She looked down the street and said, “We are going to Mercer’s on Petticoat Lane. It’s a name I believe I can trust. You don’t think I’d let you steer me to a place like where you got that other thing?” When we went into the Mercer Store, Mr. Waddington, the diamond salesman, as it happened, pushed his portly self forward, and asked, “What will it be, please?” I said, pretty loudly, “A diamond ring for Miss Mercer!” That claimed the attention of the whole house—the proprietor included. Coral had several pretty good diamonds of her own. She took a seat with Myrtle at the salestable in the little black velvet-lined cubby corner, while I stood back and looked on. When Mr. Waddington told them the price of the one they had selected, Myrtle exclaimed, “Whe-e-ew!” Then she looked to me for approval. The modest, one carat blue white stone was in good taste, plenty big enough for a girl. Coral’s largest diamond—at that time—was also an even carat, and she was a great help to Myrtle in making the selection. Coral said, “It’s not good taste to have them too big.” Later, Myrtle said earnestly and very softly, as if the thing had taken her breath away, “Do you really think you want to stand that much?” Mercer’s was the highest priced shop in Kansas City—but in a case of this kind I figured that a girl must have what she wants. Then we separated, and I went over to the Cady & Olmstead store on the corner of 11th and Walnut, and bought for myself—or rather paid for what I had already bought — the beautiful blue white diamond, nearly twice as large, which Myrtle’s sister Jennie had helped me select only three days before. Jennie had warned me not to spring that fake diamond on Myrtle. Said it might not set just right with her. But I knew that Myrtle was too smart a girl to let anything make her mad at me for long. Mr. Cady said, “You are a day early—where’s the lady?” “Yes,” I said, “I’m early. Got pushed around a little. Never mind the lady now. Though you may still make it a Tiffany setting, but make it for this hand right here.” He gave me a sympathetic look. Mr. Cady was such a nice man that I felt duty bound to tell him, as nearly as I could, what had happened to the lady.