she really had shaved her head nun fashion. If so, the Virgin had exacted a bitter price for her sister's recovery.
During these meditations, however, the salesman was not dumb. He automatically started one of those typically American conversations which consist in a long string of disconnected questions asked without any object whatever. Strawbridge himself regretted these questions. He had hoped to do something amusing and rather brilliant.
“Have you lived here long, señora ?”
“About two years. I came here immediately after I was married to General Fombombo.”
“Then you were not married here?”
“No, in Spain.”
“Then you are a Spanish girl?”
“Yes, I lived in Barcelona.”
“How do you like it here?”
“Very well.”
“I suppose you miss the stir. I hear Barcelona is the livest town in Spain.”
“I believe it is,” she agreed a little uncertainly.
“What do they export? Anything besides olive-oil? I understand they export a lot of olive-oil.”
Señora Fombombo touched her slender fingers to .her lips a moment and then said she believed they exported olive-oil.
“I suppose the girls go in for business over there, too—bookkeepers, you know; stenogs, clerks, cash girls…?”
“Ye-e-es.”
“What was your line before you married ?”
The señora came awake and looked at the drummer.
“My line?”
“Yes,” said Strawbridge, becoming a little less of an automaton and a little «more of a human.“ What was your job before you hooked up with the general?”
