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 which was to come altogether in a trainload lot from Detroit. Put the picture of that order and the check and picture of the train pullin' out of Detroit, all in the papers. That was new, then; and good! Boy, we got 'em talking. Well, the trainload got under way; I'd sent for it, you understand; ordered it, paid a deposit. It was billed to me; all mine.

"And I never suspected anything."

At this point in his narrative, Mr. Snelgrove invariably paused dramatically.

"I can't say we never got warning, though," he admitted with a sense of fairness. "The morning that trainload arrived and was laying in the freight yard, the wind was from the southwest and several people commented what a queer odor there was in the air. But o' course, the stock yards are down in that direction; Chicago's used to feelin' charitable toward a southwest wind. It did seem that the yards was going extra strong that morning but nobody thought much about it. Then we went down and began unloading. Boy, it was my trainload of cars! Rotten was no word to describe that model.

"Seems the factory had got a new engineer who'd given 'em an accumulation of economical second thoughts, at the last moment of manufacturing, which they'd wished onto the model without taking the trouble to whisper anything about it to the agents. The factory thought they was fine. But, boy, when you tried 'em! Well, there they stood; take 'em or leave 'em. Like a fool, out of loyalty to the factory, I took 'em. Well, I practically had to; I had nearly