The Argosy, Vol. 81, No. 4 — page 12: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

o18 the three beside him remarked, in a crisp, hurried voice. Orton pulled his wits together, and be- gan again to talk as he drove. “A run up Eagle Rock Hill will about show us all there is but the wearing quali- ties,” he said. “Oh, Second Avenue is good enough for me,” quickly objected one of the men be- hind. “I’m in a hurry to get back.” ‘““Yes—Second Avenue,” both the others agreed. The men knew hills, all right. But New- ark’s Second Avenue proved a joke for the little six.. “T’ll take her,” the three men spoke al- most together. ‘That is,’ the one in front conditioned his promise, “if you can get it here in a week.” “Ves, of course,” the two others hastened to put in. “T surely can,” Orton told them. “They’ve only to come from Scranton. It isn’t like getting a car here from Detroit.” “Getting a car from Detroit!” echoed the man on the front seat. “I’ve been trying to get one away from the European war. [ ordered a Shooting Star four months ago. From the looks of this little thing, [’m rather glad I didn’t get it.” “Vou can afford to be,” Orton agreed heartily. “Well, I'd rather have got my Neville,” one of the rear-seaters admitted; “but I couldn’t wait all year for it.” ‘And I could better have afforded a fliv- ver. I didn’t think they could use them for war service. But if they aren’t send- ing them over the pond, they’re selling them to all the population this side. I couldn’t get one,” the other rear-seater said. “Well, you can get this,” Orton put in. “There were fifteen thousand of these at the Scranton shop a week ago. I guess there are a few more left.” And they went in with him, and handed out checks for a hundred dollars each, and signed their names as readily as if the order had been a petition to pardon the latest sen- sational murderer. And, out of the dozen people waiting in the shop, there were no less than six who watched them do it with their faces looking like children looking on at company getting a second helping of dessert. , Miss Stearn, Orton’s freshly engaged stenographer, came from her typewriter desk to Hardwick’s big one. She had three THE ARGOSY. letters in her hands. The top one was in a’ big yellow envelope, with a picture of the Rollerton Six shadowed over the entire front of it—a letter from the firm. ‘““No time for the mail now,” Orton told her. ‘‘You might write a note to the Roll- erton people telling them I’ll read more of their suggestions to green salesmen when I can take the time from selling.” Then he went briskly after the next batch of eager customers. One of these met him half-way from his desk to the door. ‘“T guess I won’t bother you for a demon- stration,” he said. “I notice those other three took the car after seeing it go. Ii you'll take my order—”’ Orton started to pinch himself, then thought better of it. No use spoiling a beautiful dream like this. He went back to his desk. ‘You'll have the car here inside a week?” the man was asking as Orton began to fill in the blanks. Then, just as he handed over his deposit, he mentioned as a secon- dary consideration: “It really has six cylinders? look under the hood.” Half an hour later Orton came in from the second demonstration trip of the morn- ing. Four people were treading on his heels in their anxiety to beat each other at getting their orders in. ‘‘No mail or ’phone orders,” he quoted gailv, as he waved Miss Stearn back to her typewriter and idle waiting. | At a quarter to one he came in from his fourth trip. He had given up the idea that he was dreaming. He had grown .accus- tomed to the idea of selling automobiles at the rate of one every twenty minutes. He was trying to figure his morning’s profits. Twelve times twenty per cent. of eight hundred and forty-nine dollars—the only result he could get was a beautiful I didn’t « golden haze. One reason why he knew now that he was awake lay in the fact that, while he went about this simple little matter of rak- ing in orders at quick-lunch-counter speed, he was doing a little real day-dreaming. The golden haze was taking the form of a human face. It was a feminine face. No man ever had a face that would fit into a golden haze. As a matter of fact, Hardy Orton had been seeing that face a good bit without anv golden haze, and the haze appeared to fit the face rather than otherwise. ~ Eomicaoo (E@)