He watched the Southern baseball results in the papers. He
seized on every salesman on the Southern route as he came in, and
inquired about the religion and politics of the merchants in his
district. He even forgot to worry about his next rise in
salary, and found it much more exciting to rush back for an
important letter after a quick lunch than to watch the time and
make sure that he secured every minute of his lunch-hour.
When October came--October of the vagabond, with the leaves
brilliant out on the Palisades, and Sixth Avenue moving-picture
palaces cool again and gay--Mr. Wrenn stayed late, under the
mercury-vapor lights, making card cross-files of the Southern
merchants, their hobbies and prejudices, and whistling as he
worked, stopping now and then to slap the desk and mutter,
"By gosh! I'm gettin' 'em--gettin' 'em."
He rarely thought of Istra till he was out on the street again,
proud of having worked so late that his eyes ached. In fact,
his chief troubles these days came when Mr. Guilfogle wouldn't
"let him put through an idea.
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