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Page 7 · column 5 of 7 · from the scan, no model involved
When the delivery man had pocketed his bulging book and gone pounding on his way, the oldest daughter of the house shrugged her pretty shoulders and returned to her guest in the parlor. "Business is a great fraud," she declared.
"I've always said so," responded her friend with some emphasis.
"I've just signed an expressman's book to show that I've received something," the daughter of the house explained. "Now, why sign? I don't know what's in that box. It's large and heavy, but It may be empty. And yet a delivery man would drop dead if you stopped to look inside before you signed. No one ever does."
"Certainly not," said her friend, warmly. "That would be quite unprofessional. What that box contains in a small matter, after all. The point is, did it come? When you are as old as I am, my dear, you will begin to understand how many yards of red tape men need to be truly businesslike. They put up an appearance of great caution—"
"And do the saddest things ever heard of!"
"Exactly. Leases that everybody breaks—"
"Checks that any one can cash—"
"Contracts that no one pays any attention to—"
"Deposit slips that you always lose—"
"Passes for the bearer only—but any one may be the bearer—and cards not transferable—"
"Adele, I'm so glad to hear you speak so," cried the hostess. "I've always believed that business was so much pretense."
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