THE UP-TO-DATE AMERICAN WOMAN.

King Country Chronicle, Volume V, Issue 362, 20 May 1911, Page 2

THE UP-TO-DATE AMERICAN WOMAN.

A DRUMMER. I was lunching one day during my stay in New-York at an old-fashion-ed restaurant in the newspaper region of ths Empire City. A smartlydressed woman of about thirty seated herself opposite to me. She was uncommonly well groomed, comely, quick, graceful, and had dainty table manners. She ordered a luncheon such as a masculine epicure might have selected, leaving out wines. It turned out she was a commercial traveller. She "carried" —to quote her own words —"collar fasteners, cases for blouses, bodice girdles, veil fasteners, and special hatpins." All this she confided to me, with that absence of reticence which is sometimes a droll kind of charm. She admitted she wanted "to go to Europe" to introduce her goods to English dealers. ''Europe" spells only Great Britain to. many commercial Americans. "But," she said, "1 really want to go over because it is such an education to travel. You see, I married when I was sixteen, and I never went to college. Well, I was a widow in a few years, without a cent, so I just had to hustle. I've done well, and now I want to learn something on my own." I do not quite remember how we fell into conversation, but I think she made the advance. Incidentally, she exploited her line of goods with such magnetic enthusiasm that I wondered how I had managed to exist without annexing the entire lot. But through it all was her eager hunger for knowledge, a larger point of view, new mental surroundings, and the drinking in of the culture of centuries in an older world than America. There was in this a certain ingenious pathos. THE LINE. Suddenly she asked —"What line do you carry ?" "Newspapers," I replied casually. "Oh, I see," she said, "picturesque ads. Not a bad line if you strike the right firms, but windqwdressing beats it sometimes," 1 hastened to correct her impression of my "line," and she at once proceeded to interview me. From now on she had the floor. She flipped out a tiny notebook from her silver monogra mined Russia leather wrist-bag, and made notes of how and where I lived in London, the expenses, the probable results — in fact all she wanted to know ; and when she left me, she smiled brightly, thanked me appreciatively, and I actually felt myself her debtor for a most agreeable hour. Tins busy little woman was ii} earnest, proud of her work, sincere in her ambitions, and withal a clear, fresh, unconventional character. — Annie Wakeman, in the "Express."