Emma McChesney Co | Page 5

one instant, followed by
the quick regaining of it the next.
"Let's not argue about it now. Suppose we wait until to-morrow--when
it's too late. I am thankful for the trade we've got. But I don't want to be
narrow about it. My thanking capacity is such that I can stretch it out to
cover some things we haven't got yet. I've been reading up on South
America."
"Reading!" put in Buck hotly. "What actual first-hand information can
you get about a country from books?"
"Well, then, I haven't only been reading. I've been talking to everyone I
could lay my hands on who has been down there and who knows.
Those South American women love dress--especially the Argentines.
And do you know what they've been wearing? Petticoats made in
England! You know what that means. An English woman chooses a
petticoat like she does a husband--for life. It isn't only a garment. It's a
shelter. It's built like a tent. If once I can introduce the T. A. Buck
Featherloom petticoat and knickerbocker into sunny South America,
they'll use those English and German petticoats for linoleum
floor-coverings. Heaven knows they'll fit the floor better than the
human form!"
But Buck was unsmiling. The muscles of his jaw were tense.
"I won't let you go. Understand that! I won't allow it!"
"Tut, tut, T. A.! What is this? Cave-man stuff?"
"Emma, I tell you it's dangerous. It isn't worth the risk, no matter what
it brings us."

Emma McChesney struck an attitude, hand on heart. " `Heaven will
protect the working girrul,' " she sang.
Buck grabbed his hat.
"I'm going to wire Jock."
"All right! That'll save me fifty cents. Do you know what he'll wire
back? `Go to it. Get the tango on its native tairn'--or words to that
effect."
"Emma, use a little logic and common sense!"
There was a note in Buck's voice that brought a quick response from
Mrs. McChesney. She dropped her little air of gayety. The pain in his
voice, and the hurt in his eyes, and the pleading in his whole attitude
banished the smile from her face. It had not been much of a smile,
anyway. T. A. knew her genuine smiles well enough to recognize a
counterfeit at sight. And Emma McChesney knew that he knew. She
came over and laid a hand lightly on his arm.
"T. A., I don't know anything about logic. It is a hot-house plant. But
common sense is a field flower, and I've gathered whole bunches of it
in my years of business experience. I'm not going down to South
America for a lark. I'm going because the time is ripe to go. I'm going
because the future of our business needs it. I'm going because it's a job
to be handled by the most experienced salesman on our staff. And I'm
just that. I say it because it's true. Your father, T. A., used to see things
straighter and farther than any business man I ever knew. Since his
death made me a partner in this firm, I find myself, when I'm troubled
or puzzled, trying to see a situation as he'd see it if he were alive. It's
like having an expert stand back of you in a game of cards, showing
you the next move. That's the way I'm playing this hand. And I think
we're going to take most of the tricks away from Fat Ed Meyers."
T. A. Buck's eyes traveled from Emma McChesney's earnest, glowing
face to the hand that rested on his arm. He reached over and gently
covered that hand with his own.
"I suppose you must be right, little woman. You always are. Dad was
the founder of this business. It was the pride of his life. That word
`founder' has two meanings. I never want to be responsible for its
second meaning in connection with this concern."
"You never will be, T. A."
"Not with you at the helm." He smiled rather sadly. "I'm a good,

ordinary, common seaman. But you've got imagination, and foresight,
and nerve, and daring, and that's the stuff that admirals are made of."
"Bless you, T. A.! I knew you'd see the thing as I do after the first
shock was over. It has always been nip and tuck between the Sans-Silk
Company and us. You gave me the hint that showed me their plans.
Now help me follow it up."
Buck picked up his hat, squared his shoulders and fumbled with his
gloves like a bashful schoolboy.
"You--you couldn't kill two birds with one stone on this trip, could you,
Mrs. Mack?"
Mrs. McChesney, back at her desk again, threw him an inquiring
glance over her shoulder.
"You might make it a combination honeymoon and Featherloom
expedition."
"T. A. Buck!"