"Are you an operator?"
Mr. Stanwood, in his turn, seemingly deeply engaged in the contents of a book, immediately drummed in response,
"Yes."
Nattie felt the color come into her face.
"Oh, dear!" she thought, "and Cyn told him that ridiculous story! Every operator in town will know it now." Then with the scissors she asked,
"Why didn't you say so? Where is your office?"
"I have none now," the pencil answered, while Cyn, glancing across the room, wondered to see the two so studious, and unsuspiciously asked Quimby if he supposed they were practicing for a drum corps? After a few meaningless dots, the pencil went on,
"A little girl at B m was dreadfully sold one day!"
The album Nattie held fell from her hands as she stared petrified at her vis-a-vis, who kept his eyes on his book with the most innocent expression imaginable, one that even a Chinaman could not have equaled. Where could he have heard those words, once so familiar? A moment's thought gave her the most probable key.
"You are in the main office of this city, and
