I sure can inhale some sleep." Upon a chair, she laid Leo and fell, face downward, on her bed.
Ellen unbuttoned her slippers and removed them, whereat Di wiggled her toes satisfiedly and volunteered, yawning, "Well, the Metten business is certainly in the bin."
"Slengel's bin?"
"Yea," yawned Di. "We got it. Sam signs on Monday. And while we're speaking of business, don't drop with astonishment if you begin feelin' pretty soon a sort of slump in the business influence of the First Baptist church and the foreign missionary society of Stanley, Illinois. Lew loosened a bit last night."
Ellen listened.
"That boy's seekin' a change, Ellen."
"Lew Alban?"
"Lew. The old boy, who's retirin', is still sold on J. A.'s singin' hymns with him and shippin' missionaries off to China; he gets his big kick out of hymns and missionary meetin's. He has to; he's eighty. But Lew—well, he's a fairly vigorous young man and naturally he appreciates a different sort of entertainment."
"The Slengels' sort!" retorted Ellen.
Di turned over and lay on her back. "What's so sour with the Slengels' sort of entertainment?" she defended. "What's the matter with giving a man a pleasant little party?"
"To get his business!"
"Sure, to get his business! What's the matter with that?" Di demanded directly and sat up. "Art Slengel can't go after the Alban business by suggesting another
