There had been a meeting in the offices of the T. A. Buck5 Featherloom Petticoat Company, New York. The quarterly report had had a startlingly lop-sided sound. After it was over Mrs. Emma McChesney, secretary of the company, followed T. A. Buck, its president, into the big, bright show-room. T. A. Buck's hands were thrust deep into his pockets. His teeth worried a cigar, savagely6. Care, that clawing, mouthing hag, perched on his brow, tore at his heart.
He turned to face Emma McChesney.
“Well,” he said, bitterly, “it hasn't taken us long, has it? Father's been dead a little over a year. In that time we've just about run this great concern, the pride of his life, into the ground.”
Mrs. Emma McChesney, calm, cool, unruffled, scrutinized8 the harassed9 man before her for a long minute.
“What rotten football material you would have made, wouldn't you?” she observed.
“Oh, I don't know,” answered T. A. Buck, through his teeth. “I can stand as stiff a scrimmage as the next one. But this isn't a game. You take things too lightly. You're a woman. I don't think you know what this means.”
Emma McChesney's lips opened as do those of one whose tongue's end holds a quick and stinging retort. Then they closed again. She walked over to the big window that faced the street. When she had stood there a moment, silent, she swung around and came back to where T. A. Buck stood, still wrapped in gloom.
“Maybe I don't take myself seriously. I'd have been dead ten years ago if I had. But I do take my job seriously. Don't forget that for a minute. You talk the way a man always talks when his pride is hurt.”
“Pride! It isn't that.”
“Oh, yes, it is. I didn't sell T. A. Buck's Featherloom Petticoats on the road for almost ten years without learning a little something about men and business. When your father died, and I learned that he had shown his appreciation10 of my work and loyalty11 by making me secretary of this great company, I didn't think of it as a legacy—a stroke of good fortune.”
“No?”
“No. To me it was a sacred trust—something to be guarded, nursed, cherished. And now you say we've run this concern into the ground. Do you honestly think that?”
T. A. shrugged12 impotent shoulders. “Figures don't lie.” He plunged13 into another fathom14 of gloom. “Another year like this and we're done for.”
Emma McChesney came over and put one firm hand on T. A. Buck's drooping15 shoulder. It was a strange little act for a woman—the sort of thing a man does when he would hearten another man.
“Wake up!” she said, lightly. “Wake up, and listen to the birdies sing. There isn't going to be another year like this. Not if the planning, and scheming, and brain-racking that I've been doing for the last two or three months mean anything.”
T. A. Buck seated himself as one who is weary, body and mind.
“Got another new one?”
Emma McChesney regarded him a moment thoughtfully. Then she stepped to the tall show-case, pushed back the sliding glass door, and pointed16 to the rows of brilliant-hued petticoats that hung close-packed within.
“Look at 'em!” she commanded, disgust in her voice. “Look at 'em!”
T. A. Buck raised heavy, lack-luster eyes and looked. What he saw did not seem to interest him. Emma McChesney drew from the rack a skirt of king's blue satin messaline and held it at arm's length.
“And they call that thing a petticoat! Why, fifteen years ago the material in this skirt wouldn't have made even a fair-sized sleeve.”
T. A. Buck regarded the petticoat moodily17. “I don't see how they get around in the darned things. I honestly don't see how they wear 'em.”
“That's just it. They don't wear 'em. There you have the root of the whole trouble.”
“Oh, nonsense!” disputed T. A. “They certainly wear something—some sort of an—”
“I tell you they don't. Here. Listen. Three years ago our taffeta skirts ran from thirty-six to thirty-eight yards to the dozen. We paid from ninety cents to one dollar five a yard. Now our skirts run from twenty-five to twenty-eight yards to the dozen. The silk costs us from fifty to sixty cents a yard. Silk skirts used to be a luxury. Now they're not even a necessity.”
“Well, what's the answer? I've been pondering some petticoat problems myself. I know we've got to sell three skirts to-day to make the profit that we used to make on one three years ago.”
Emma McChesney had the brave-heartedness to laugh. “This skirt business reminds me of a game we used to play when I was a kid. We called it Going to Jerusalem, I think. Anyway, I know each child sat in a chair except the one who was It. At a signal everybody had to get up and change chairs. There was a wild scramble18, in which the one who was It took part. When the burly-burly was over some child was always chairless, of course. He had to be It. That's the skirt business to-day. There aren't enough chairs to go round, and in the scramble somebody's got to be left out. And let me tell you, here and now, that the firm of T. A. Buck, Featherloom Petticoats, is not going to be It.”
T. A. rose as wearily as he had sat down. Even the most optimistic of watchers could have discerned no gleam of enthusiasm on his face.
“I thought,” he said listlessly, “that you and I had tried every possible scheme to stimulate19 the skirt trade.”
“Every possible one, yes,” agreed Mrs. McChesney, sweetly. “And now it's time to try the impossible. The possibilities haven't worked. My land! I could write a book on the Decline and Fall of the Petticoat, beginning with the billowy white muslin variety, and working up to the present slinky messaline affair. When I think of those dear dead days of the glorious—er—past, when the hired girl used to complain and threaten to leave because every woman in the family had at least three ruffled7, embroidery-flounced white muslin petticoats on the line on Mondays—”
The lines about T. A. Buck's mouth relaxed into a grim smile.
“Remember that feature you got them to run in the Sunday Sphere? The one headed 'Are Skirts Growing Fuller, and Where?'”
“Do I remember it!” wailed20 Emma McChesney. “And can I ever forget the money we put into that fringed model we called the Carmencita! We made it up so it could retail21 for a dollar ninety-five, and I could have sworn that the women would maim22 each other to get to it. But it didn't go. They won't even wear fringe around their ankles.”
T. A.'s grim smile stretched into a reminiscent grin. “But nothing in our whole hopeless campaign could touch your Municipal Purity League agitation23 for the abolition24 of the form-hugging skirt. You talked public morals until you had A. Comstock and Lucy Page Gaston looking like Parisian Apaches.”
A little laugh rippled25 up to Emma McChesney's lips, only to die away to a sigh. She shook her head in sorrowful remembrance.
“Yes. But what good did it do? The newspapers and magazines did take it up, but what happened? The dressmakers and tailors, who are charging more than ever for their work, and putting in half as much material, got together and knocked my plans into a cocked hat. In answer to those snap-shots showing what took place every time a woman climbed a car step, they came back with pictures of the styles of '61, proving that the street-car effect is nothing to what happened to a belle26 of '61 if she chanced to sit down or get up too suddenly in the hoop-skirt days.”
They were both laughing now, like a couple of children. “And, oh, say!” gasped27 Emma, “remember Moe Selig, of the Fine-Form Skirt Company, trying to get the doctors to state that hobble skirts were making women knock-kneed! Oh, mercy!”
But their laugh ended in a little rueful silence. It was no laughing matter, this situation. T. A. Buck shrugged his shoulders, and began a restless pacing up and down. “Yep. There you are. Meanwhile—”
“Meanwhile, women are still wearing 'em tight, and going petticoatless.”
Suddenly T. A. stopped short in his pacing and fastened his surprised and interested gaze on the skirt of the trim and correct little business frock that sat so well upon Emma McChesney's pretty figure.
“Why, look at that!” he exclaimed, and pointed with one eager finger.
“Mercy!” screamed Emma McChesney. “What is it? Quick! A mouse?”
T. A. Buck shook his head, impatiently. “Mouse! Lord, no! Plaits!”
“Plaits!”
She looked down, bewildered.
“Yes. In your skirt. Three plaits at the front-left, and three in the back. That's new, isn't it? If outer skirts are being made fuller, then it follows—”
“It ought to follow,” interrupted Emma McChesney, “but it doesn't. It lags way behind. These plaits are stitched down. See? That's the fiendishness of it. And the petticoat underneath—if there is one—must be just as smooth, and unwrinkled, and scant28 as ever. Don't let 'em fool you.”
Buck spread his palms with a little gesture of utter futility29.
“I'm through. Out with your scheme. We're ready for it. It's our last card, whatever it is.”
There was visible on Emma McChesney's face that little tightening30 of the muscles, that narrowing of the eyelids31 which betokens32 intense earnestness; the gathering33 of all the forces before taking a momentous34 step. Then, as quickly, her face cleared. She shook her head with a little air of sudden decision.
“Not now. Just because it's our last card I want to be sure that I'm playing it well. I'll be ready for you to-morrow morning in my office. Come prepared for the jolt35 of your young life.”
For the first time since the beginning of the conversation a glow of new courage and hope lighted up T. A. Buck's good-looking features. His fine eyes rested admiringly upon Emma McChesney standing36 there by the great show-case. She seemed to radiate energy, alertness, confidence.
“When you begin to talk like that,” he said, “I always feel as though I could take hold in a way to make those famous jobs that Hercules tackled look like little Willie's chores after school.”
“Fine!” beamed Emma McChesney. “Just store that up, will you? And don't let it filter out at your finger-tips when I begin to talk to-morrow.”
“We'll have lunch together, eh? And talk it over then sociably37.”
Mrs. McChesney closed the glass door of the case with a bang.
“No, thanks. My office at 9:30.”
T. A. Buck followed her to the door. “But why not lunch? You never will take lunch with me. Ever so much more comfortable to talk things over that way—”
“When I talk business,” said Emma McChesney, pausing at the threshold, “I want to be surrounded by a business atmosphere. I want the scene all set—one practical desk, two practical chairs, one telephone, one letter-basket, one self-filling fountain-pen, et cetera. And when I lunch I want to lunch, with nothing weightier on my mind than the question as to whether I'll have chicken livers saute or creamed sweetbreads with mushrooms.”
“That's no reason,” grumbled38 T. A. “That's an excuse.”
“It will have to do, though,” replied Mrs. McChesney abruptly39, and passed out as he held the door open for her. He was still standing in the doorway40 after her trim, erect41 figure had disappeared into the little office across the hail.
The little scarlet42 leather clock on Emma McChesney's desk pointed to 9:29 A.M. when there entered her office an immaculately garbed43, miraculously44 shaven, healthily rosy45 youngish-middle-aged man who looked ten years younger than the harassed, frowning T. A. Buck with whom she had almost quarreled the evening before. Mrs. McChesney was busily dictating46 to a sleek47 little stenographer48. The sleek little stenographer glanced up at T. A. Buck's entrance. The glance, being a feminine one, embraced all of T. A.'s good points and approved them from the tips of his modish50 boots to the crown of his slightly bald head, and including the creamy-white flower that reposed51 in his buttonhole.
“'Morning!” said Emma McChesney, looking up briefly52. “Be with you in a minute.... and in reply would say we regret that you have had trouble with No. 339. It is impossible to avoid pulling at the seams in the lower-grade silk skirts when they are made up in the present scant style. Our Mr. Spalding warned you of this at the time of your purchase. We will not under any circumstances consent to receive the goods if they are sent back on our hands. Yours sincerely. That'll be all, Miss Casey.”
She swung around to face her visitor as the door closed. If T. A. Buck looked ten years younger than he had the afternoon before, Emma McChesney undoubtedly53 looked five years older. There were little, worried, sagging54 lines about her eyes and mouth.
T. A. Buck's eyes had followed the sheaf of signed correspondence, and the well-filled pad of more recent dictation which the sleek little stenographer had carried away with her.
“Good Lord! It looks as though you had stayed down here all night.”
Emma McChesney smiled a little wearily. “Not quite that. But I was here this morning in time to greet the night watchman. Wanted to get my mail out of the way.” Her eyes searched T. A. Buck's serene55 face. Then she leaned forward, earnestly.
“Haven't you seen the morning paper?”
“Just a mere56 glance at 'em. Picked up Burrows57 on the way down, and we got to talking. Why?”
“The Rasmussen-Welsh Skirt Company has failed. Liabilities three hundred thousand. Assets one hundred thousand.”
“Failed! Good God!” All the rosy color, all the brisk morning freshness had vanished from his face. “Failed! Why, girl, I thought that concern was as solid as Gibraltar.” He passed a worried hand over his head. “That knocks the wind out of my sails.”
“Don't let it. Just say that it fills them with a new breeze. I'm all the more sure that the time is ripe for my plan.”
T. A. Buck took from a vest pocket a scrap58 of paper and a fountain pen, slid down in his chair, crossed his legs, and began to scrawl59 meaningless twists and curlycues, as was his wont60 when worried or deeply interested.
“Are you as sure of this scheme of yours as you were yesterday?”
“Sure,” replied Emma McChesney, briskly. “Sartin-sure.”
“Then fire away.”
Mrs. McChesney leaned forward, breathing a trifle fast. Her eyes were fastened on her listener.
“Here's the plan. We'll make Featherloom Petticoats because there still are some women who have kept their senses. But we'll make them as a side line. The thing that has got to keep us afloat until full skirts come in again will be a full and complete line of women's satin messaline knickerbockers made up to match any suit or gown, and a full line of pajamas61 for women and girls. Get the idea? Scant, smart, trim little taupe-gray messaline knickers for a taupe gray suit, blue messaline for blue suits, brown messaline for brown—”
T. A. Buck stared, open-mouthed, the paper on which he had been scrawling62 fluttering unnoticed to the floor.
“Look here!” he interrupted. “Is this supposed to be humorous?”
“And,” went on Emma McChesney, calmly, “in our full and complete, not to say nifty line of women's pajamas—pink pajamas, blue pajamas, violet pajamas, yellow pajamas, white silk—”
T. A. Buck stood up. “I want to say,” he began, “that if you are jesting, I think this is a mighty63 poor time to joke. And if you are serious I can only deduce from it that this year of business worry and responsibility has been too much for you. I'm sure that if you were—”
“That's all right,” interrupted Emma McChesney. “Don't apologize. I purposely broke it to you this way, when I might have approached it gently. You've done just what I knew you'd do, so it's all right. After you've thought it over, and sort of got chummy with the idea, you'll be just as keen on it as I am.”
“Never!”
“Oh, yes, you will. It's the knickerbocker end of it that scares you. Nothing new or startling about pajamas, except that more and more women are wearing 'em, and that no girl would dream of going away to school without her six sets of pajamas. Why, a girl in a regulation nightie at one of their midnight spreads would be ostracized64. Of course I've thought up a couple of new kinks in 'em—new ways of cutting and all that, and there's one model—a washable crepe, for traveling, that doesn't need to be pressed—but I'll talk about that later.”
T. A. Buck was trying to put in a word of objection, but she would have none of it. But at Emma McChesney's next words his indignation would brook65 no barriers.
“Now,” she went on, “the feature of the knickerbockers will be this: They've got to be ready for the boys' spring trip, and in all the larger cities, especially in the hustling66 Middle-Western towns, and along the coast, too, I'm planning to have the knickerbockers introduced at private and exclusive exhibitions, and worn by—get this, please—worn by living models. One big store in each town, see? Half a dozen good-looking girls—”
“Never!” shouted T. A. Buck, white and shaking. “Never! This firm has always had a name for dignity, solidness, conservatism—”
“Then it's just about time it lost that reputation. It's all very well to hang on to your dignity when you're on solid ground, but when you feel things slipping from under you the thing to do is to grab on to anything that'll keep you on your feet for a while at least. I tell you the women will go wild over this knickerbocker idea. They've been waiting for it.”
“It's a wild-cat scheme,” disputed Buck hotly. “It's a drowning man's straw, and just about as helpful. I'm a reasonable man—”
“All unreasonable67 men say that,” smiled Emma McChesney.
“—I'm a reasonable man, I say. And heaven knows I have the interest of this firm at heart. But this is going too far. If we're going to smash we'll go decently, and with our name untarnished. Pajamas are bad enough. But when it comes to the firm of T. A. Buck being represented by—by—living model hussies stalking about in satin tights like chorus girls, why—”
In Emma McChesney's alert, electric mind there leapt about a dozen plans for winning this man over. For win him she would, in the end. It was merely a question of method. She chose the simplest. There was a set look about her jaw68. Her eyes flashed. Two spots of carmine69 glowed in her cheeks.
“I expected just this,” she said. “And I prepared for it.” She crossed swiftly to her desk, opened a drawer, and took out a flat package. “I expected opposition70. That's why I had these samples made up to show you. I designed them myself, and tore up fifty patterns before I struck one that suited me. Here are the pajamas.”
She lifted out a dainty, shell-pink garment, and shook it out before the half-interested, half-unwilling eyes of T. A. Buck.
“This is the jacket. Buttons on the left; see? Instead of the right, as it would in a man's garment. Semi-sailor collar, with knotted soft silk scarf. Oh, it's just a little kink, but they'll love it. They're actually becoming. I've tried 'em. Notice the frogs and cord. Pretty neat, yes? Slight flare71 at the hips72. Makes 'em set and hang right. Perfectly73 straight, like a man's coat.”
T. A. Buck eyed the garments with a grudging74 admiration75.
“Oh, that part of it don't sound so unreasonable, although I don't believe there is much of a demand for that kind of thing. But the other—-the—the knickerbocker things—that's not even practical. It will make an ugly garment, and the women who would fall for a fad76 like that wouldn't be of the sort to wear an ugly piece of lingerie. It isn't to be thought of seriously—”
Emma McChesney stepped to the door of the tiny wash-room off her office and threw it open.
“Miss La Noyes! We're ready for you.”
And there emerged from the inner room a trim, lithe77, almost boyishly slim figure attired78 in a bewitchingly skittish-looking garment consisting of knickerbockers and snug80 brassiere of king's blue satin messaline. Dainty black silk stockings and tiny buckled81 slippers82 set off the whole effect.
“Miss La Noyes,” said Emma McChesney, almost solemnly, “this is Mr. T. A. Buck, president of the firm. Miss La Noyes, of the 'Gay Social Whirl' company.”
Miss La Noyes bowed slightly and rested one white hand at her side in an attitude of nonchalant ease.
“Pleased, I'm shaw!” she said, in a clear, high voice.
And, “Charmed,” replied T. A. Buck, his years and breeding standing him in good stead now.
Emma McChesney laid a kindly83 hand on the girl's shoulder. “Turn slowly, please. Observe the absence of unnecessary fulness about the hips, or at the knees. No wrinkles to show there. No man will ever appreciate the fine points of this little garment, but the women!—To the left, Miss La Noyes. You'll see it fastens snug and trim with a tiny clasp just below the knees. This garment has the added attraction of being fastened to the upper garment, a tight satin brassiere. The single, unattached garment is just as satisfactory, however. Women are wearing plush this year. Not only for the street, but for evening dresses. I rather think they'll fancy a snappy little pair of yellow satin knickers under a gown of the new orange plush. Or a taupe pair, under a gray street suit. Or a natty84 little pair of black satin, finished and piped in white satin, to be worn with a black and white shopping costume. Why, I haven't worn a petticoat since I—”
“Do you mean to tell me,” burst from the long-pent T. A. Buck, “that you wear 'em too?”
“Crazy about 'em. Miss La Noyes, will you just slip on your street skirt, please?”
She waited in silence until the demure85 Miss La Noyes reappeared. A narrow, straight-hanging, wrinkleless cloth skirt covered the much discussed under-garment. “Turn slowly, please. Thanks. You see, Mr. Buck? Not a wrinkle. No bunchiness. No lumps. No crawling up about the knees. Nothing but ease, and comfort, and trim good looks.”
T. A. Buck passed his hand over his head in a dazed, helpless gesture. There was something pathetic in his utter bewilderment and helplessness in contrast with Emma McChesney's breezy self-confidence, and the show-girl's cool poise86 and unconcern.
“Wait a minute,” he murmured, almost pleadingly. “Let me ask a couple of questions, will you?”
“Questions? A hundred. That proves you're interested.”
“Well, then, let me ask this young lady the first one. Miss—er—La Noyes, do you honestly and truly like this garment? Would you buy one if you saw it in a shop window?”
Miss La Noyes' answer came trippingly and without hesitation87. She did not even have to feel of her back hair first.
“Say, I'd go without my lunch for a week to get it. Mrs. McChesney says I can have this pair. I can't wait till our prima donna sees 'em. She'll hate me till she's got a dozen like 'em.”
“Next!” urged Mrs. McChesney, pleasantly.
But T. A. Buck shook his head. “That's all. Only—”
Emma McChesney patted Miss La Noyes lightly on the shoulder, and smiled dazzlingly upon her. “Run along, little girl. You've done beautifully. And many thanks.”
Miss La Noyes, appearing in another moment dressed for the street, stopped at the door to bestow88 a frankly89 admiring smile upon the abstracted president of the company, and a grateful one upon its pink-cheeked secretary.
“Hope you'll come and see our show some evening. You won't know me at first, because I wear a blond wig90 in the first scene. Third from the left, front row.” And to Mrs. McChesney: “I cer'nly did hate to get up so early this morning, but after you're up it ain't so fierce. And it cer'nly was easy money. Thanks.”
{Illustration: “'No man will ever appreciate the fine points of this little garment, but the women—!'”}
Emma McChesney glanced quickly at T. A., saw that he was pliant91 enough for the molding process, and deftly92 began to shape, and bend, and smooth and pat.
“Let's sit down, and unravel93 the kinks in our nerves. Now, if you do favor this new plan—oh, I mean after you've given it consideration, and all that! Yes, indeed. But if you do, I think it would be good policy to start the game in—say—Cleveland. The Kaufman-Oster Company of Cleveland have a big, snappy, up-to-the-minute store. We'll get them to send out announcement cards. Something neat and flattering-looking. See? Little stage all framed up. Scene set to show a bedroom or boudoir. Then, thin girls, plump girls, short girls, high girls. They'll go through all the paces. We won't only show the knickerbockers: we demonstrate how the ordinary petticoat bunches and crawls up under the heavy plush and velvet94 top skirt. We'll show 'em in street clothes, evening clothes, afternoon frocks. Each one in a different shade of satin knicker. And silk stockings and cunning little slippers to match. The store will stand for that. It's a big ad for them, too.”
Emma McChesney's hair was slightly tousled. Her cheeks were carmine. Her eyes glowed.
“Don't you see! Don't you get it! Can't you feel how the thing's going to take hold?”
“By Gad95!” burst from T. A. Buck, “I'm darned if I don't believe you're right—almost—But are you sure that you believe—”
Emma McChesney brought one little white fist down into the palm of the other hand. “Sure? Why, I'm so sure that when I shut my eyes I can see T. A. Senior sitting over there in that chair, tapping the side of his nose with the edge of his tortoise-shell-rimmed glasses, and nodding his head, with his features all screwed up like a blessed old gargoyle96, the way he always did when something tickled97 him. That's how sure I am.”
T. A. Buck stood up abruptly. He shrugged his shoulders. His face looked strangely white and drawn98. “I'll leave it to you. I'll do my share of the work. But I'm not more than half convinced, remember.”
“That's enough for the present,” answered Emma McChesney, briskly. “Well, now, suppose we talk machinery99 and girls, and cutters for a while.”
Two months later found T. A. Buck and his sales-manager, both shirt-sleeved, both smoking nervously100, as they marked, ticketed, folded, arranged. They were getting out the travelers' spring lines. Entered Mrs. McChesney, and stood eying them, worriedly. It was her dozenth visit to the stock-room that morning. A strange restlessness seemed to trouble her. She wandered from office to show-room, from show-room to factory.
“What's the trouble?” inquired T. A. Buck, squinting101 up at her through a cloud of cigar smoke.
“Oh, nothing,” answered Mrs. McChesney, and stood fingering the piles of glistening102 satin garments, a queer, faraway look in her eyes. Then she turned and walked listlessly toward the door. There she encountered Spalding—Billy Spalding, of the coveted103 Middle-Western territory, Billy Spalding, the long-headed, quick-thinking; Spalding, the persuasive104, Spalding the mixer, Spalding on whom depended the fate of the T. A. Buck Featherloom Knickerbocker and Pajama.
“'Morning! When do you start out?” she asked him.
“In the morning. Gad, that's some line, what? I'm itching79 to spread it. You're certainly a wonder-child, Mrs. McChesney. Why, the boys—”
Emma McChesney sighed, somberly. “That line does sort of—well, tug105 at your heart-strings, doesn't it?” She smiled, almost wistfully. “Say, Billy, when you reach the Eagle House at Waterloo, tell Annie, the head-waitress to rustle106 you a couple of Mrs. Traudt's dill pickles107. Tell her Mrs. McChesney asked you to. Mrs. Traudt, the proprietor's wife, doles108 'em out to her favorites. They're crisp, you know, and firm, and juicy, and cold, and briny109.”
Spalding drew a sibilant breath. “I'll be there!” he grinned. “I'll be there!”
But he wasn't. At eight the next morning there burst upon Mrs. McChesney a distraught T. A. Buck.
“Hear about Spalding?” he demanded.
“Spalding? No.”
“His wife 'phoned from St. Luke's. Taken with an appendicitis110 attack at midnight. They operated at five this morning. One of those had-it-been-twenty-four-hours-later-etc. operations. That settles us.”
“Poor kid,” replied Emma McChesney. “Rough on him and his brand-new wife.”
“Poor kid! Yes. But how about his territory? How about our new line? How about—”
“Oh, that's all right,” said Emma McChesney, cheerfully.
“I'd like to know how! We haven't a man equal to the territory. He's our one best bet.”
“Oh, that's all right,” said Mrs. McChesney again, smoothly111.
A little impatient exclamation112 broke from T. A. Buck. At that Emma McChesney smiled. Her new listlessness and abstraction seemed to drop from her. She braced49 her shoulders, and smiled her old sunny, heartening smile.
“I'm going out with that line. I'm going to leave a trail of pajamas and knickerbockers from Duluth to Canton.”
“You! No, you won't!” A dull, painful red had swept into T. A. Buck's face. It was answered by a flood of scarlet in Mrs. McChesney's countenance113.
“I don't get you,” she said. “I'm afraid you don't realize what this trip means. It's going to be a fight. They'll have to be coaxed114 and bullied115 and cajoled, and reasoned with. It's going to be a 'show-me' trip.”
T. A. Buck took a quick step forward. “That's just why. I won't have you fighting with buyers, taking their insults, kowtowing to them, salving them. It—it isn't woman's work.”
Emma McChesney was sorting the contents of her desk with quick, nervous fingers. “I'll get the Twentieth Century,” she said, over her shoulder. “Don't argue, please. If it's no work for a woman then I suppose it follows that I'm unwomanly. For ten years I traveled this country selling T. A. Buck's Featherloom Petticoats. My first trip on the road I was in the twenties—and pretty, too. I'm a woman of thirty-seven now. I'll never forget that first trip—the heartbreaks, the insults I endured, the disappointments, the humiliation116, until they understood that I meant business—strictly business. I'm tired of hearing you men say that this and that and the other isn't woman's work. Any work is woman's work that a woman can do well. I've given the ten best years of my life to this firm. Next to my boy at school it's the biggest thing in my life. Sometimes it swamps even him. Don't come to me with that sort of talk.” She was locking drawers, searching pigeon-holes, skimming files. “This is my busy day.” She arose, and shut her desk with a bang, locked it, and turned a flushed and beaming face toward T. A. Buck, as he stood frowning before her.
{Illustration: “Emma McChesney... I believe in you now! Dad and I both believe in you'”}
“Your father believed in me—from the ground up. We understood each other, he and I. You've learned a lot in the last year and a half, T. A. Junior-that-was, but there's one thing you haven't mastered. When will you learn to believe in Emma McChesney?”
She was out of the office before he had time to answer, leaving him standing there.
In the dusk of a late winter evening just three weeks later, a man paused at the door of the unlighted office marked “Mrs. McChesney.” He looked about a moment, as though dreading117 detection. Then he opened the door, stepped into the dim quiet of the little room, and closed the door gently after him. Everything in the tiny room was quiet, neat, orderly. It seemed to possess something of the character of its absent owner. The intruder stood there a moment, uncertainly, looking about him.
Then he took a step forward and laid one hand on the back of the empty chair before the closed desk. He shut his eyes and it seemed that he felt her firm, cool, reassuring118 grip on his fingers as they clutched the wooden chair. The impression was so strong that he kept his eyes shut, and they were still closed when his voice broke the silence of the dim, quiet little room.
“Emma McChesney,” he was saying aloud, “Emma McChesney, you great big, fine, brave, wonderful woman, you! I believe in you now! Dad and I both believe in you.”
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
unevenly
|
|
| adv.不均匀的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
ledger
|
|
| n.总帐，分类帐；帐簿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
sags
|
|
| 向下凹或中间下陷( sag的第三人称单数 )； 松弛或不整齐地悬着 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
perilously
|
|
| adv.充满危险地，危机四伏地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
buck
|
|
| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
savagely
|
|
| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
ruffled
|
|
| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
scrutinized
|
|
| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
harassed
|
|
| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
appreciation
|
|
| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
loyalty
|
|
| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
shrugged
|
|
| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
plunged
|
|
| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
fathom
|
|
| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
drooping
|
|
| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
moodily
|
|
| adv.喜怒无常地；情绪多变地；心情不稳地；易生气地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
scramble
|
|
| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
stimulate
|
|
| vt.刺激，使兴奋；激励，使…振奋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
wailed
|
|
| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
retail
|
|
| v./n.零售；adv.以零售价格 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
maim
|
|
| v.使残废，使不能工作，使伤残 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
agitation
|
|
| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
abolition
|
|
| n.废除，取消 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
rippled
|
|
| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
belle
|
|
| n.靓女 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
gasped
|
|
| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
scant
|
|
| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
futility
|
|
| n.无用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
tightening
|
|
| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
eyelids
|
|
| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
betokens
|
|
| v.预示，表示( betoken的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
gathering
|
|
| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
momentous
|
|
| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
jolt
|
|
| v.（使）摇动，（使）震动，（使）颠簸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
sociably
|
|
| adv.成群地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
grumbled
|
|
| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
abruptly
|
|
| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
doorway
|
|
| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
erect
|
|
| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
scarlet
|
|
| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
garbed
|
|
| v.（尤指某类人穿的特定）服装，衣服，制服( garb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
miraculously
|
|
| ad.奇迹般地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
rosy
|
|
| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
dictating
|
|
| v.大声讲或读( dictate的现在分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
sleek
|
|
| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
stenographer
|
|
| n.速记员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
braced
|
|
| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
modish
|
|
| adj.流行的，时髦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
reposed
|
|
| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
briefly
|
|
| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
undoubtedly
|
|
| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
sagging
|
|
| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
serene
|
|
| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
burrows
|
|
| n.地洞( burrow的名词复数 )v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的第三人称单数 )；翻寻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
scrap
|
|
| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
scrawl
|
|
| vt.潦草地书写；n.潦草的笔记，涂写 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
wont
|
|
| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
pajamas
|
|
| n.睡衣裤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
scrawling
|
|
| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
63
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
ostracized
|
|
| v.放逐( ostracize的过去式和过去分词 )；流放；摈弃；排斥 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
brook
|
|
| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
hustling
|
|
| 催促（hustle的现在分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
unreasonable
|
|
| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
jaw
|
|
| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
carmine
|
|
| n.深红色，洋红色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
opposition
|
|
| n.反对，敌对 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
flare
|
|
| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
hips
|
|
| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
grudging
|
|
| adj.勉强的，吝啬的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
fad
|
|
| n.时尚；一时流行的狂热；一时的爱好 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
lithe
|
|
| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
attired
|
|
| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
itching
|
|
| adj.贪得的，痒的，渴望的v.发痒( itch的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
snug
|
|
| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
buckled
|
|
| a. 有带扣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
slippers
|
|
| n. 拖鞋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
natty
|
|
| adj.整洁的，漂亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
demure
|
|
| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
poise
|
|
| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
hesitation
|
|
| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
bestow
|
|
| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
frankly
|
|
| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
wig
|
|
| n.假发 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
pliant
|
|
| adj.顺从的；可弯曲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
deftly
|
|
| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
unravel
|
|
| v.弄清楚（秘密）；拆开，解开，松开 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
velvet
|
|
| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
gad
|
|
| n.闲逛；v.闲逛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
gargoyle
|
|
| n.笕嘴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
tickled
|
|
| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
machinery
|
|
| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
nervously
|
|
| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
squinting
|
|
| 斜视( squint的现在分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
glistening
|
|
| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
coveted
|
|
| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
persuasive
|
|
| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
tug
|
|
| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
rustle
|
|
| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
pickles
|
|
| n.腌菜( pickle的名词复数 )；处于困境；遇到麻烦；菜酱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
doles
|
|
| 救济物( dole的名词复数 )； 失业救济金 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
briny
|
|
| adj.盐水的；很咸的；n.海洋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
appendicitis
|
|
| n.阑尾炎，盲肠炎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
smoothly
|
|
| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
exclamation
|
|
| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
coaxed
|
|
| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
bullied
|
|
| adj.被欺负了v.恐吓，威逼( bully的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
humiliation
|
|
| n.羞辱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
dreading
|
|
| v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
reassuring
|
|
| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |