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 told a tale of some football game, or if he had al- ready gone out into the world, talked of his experi- ences as a traveler 'selling the wares manufactured or merchandized by his father. Such visits all began at the same hour, eight o'clock, and the young man left the house promptly at ten. Clara grew to feel that she was being merchandized and that they had come to look at the goods. One evening one of the men, a fel- low with laughing blue eyes and kinky yellow hair, un- consciously disturbed her profoundly. All the evening he talked just as the others had talked and got out of his chair to go away at the prescribed hour. Clara walked with him to the door. She put out her hand, which he shook cordially. Then he looked at her and his eyes twinkled. " I've had a good time," he said. Clara had a sudden and almost overpowering desire to em- brace him. She wanted to disturb his assurance, to startle him by kissing him on the lips or holding him tightly in her arms. Shutting the door quickly, she stood with her hand on the door-knob, her whole body trembling. The trivial by-products of her age's indus- trial madness went on in the next room. The sheets of paper rustled and the knitting needles clicked. Clara thought she would like to call the young man back into the house, lead him to the room where the meaningless industry went endlessly on and there do something that would shock them and him as they had never been shocked before. She ran quickly upstairs. ' What is getting to be the matter with me? " she asked herself anxiously. One evening in the month of May, during her third year at the University, Clara sat on the bank of a tiny