The Clio messenger. (Clio, Mich.) 1907-current, 1914-12-25

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, be-
ginning with the billowy white mus
lin variety, and working up to the
present slinky messaline affair. When
think of those dear days Of the
lortous-er-past, when the hired girl
used to complain and threaten to
leave because every woman In the
family had at least three ruffled. en-
broidery-flounced white muslin petit
coats on the line on Mondays"
The lines about T. A. Bucks 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 remember i'll" walled Emma
McChesney. And can / ever forget
the money we put into that fringed
model we called the CarmencitaI We
made it up so it could retail for q
dollar ninety-five, and I could have
sworn that the women would main
each other to get to it. But 1t didn't
go. They won't even wear fringe
around their ankles"
T. AS grim smile stretched into a
reminiscent grin. But nothing in our
whole hopeless campaign could touch
your Municipal Purity league agita-
ton for the abolition Of the form
hugging skirt. You talked public NOR
ais until you had A. Comstock and
Lucy Page CASTOR looking like Pari-
sian apaches."
A little laugh rippled up to Emma
McChesney's lips only to die away to
sigh. She shook her head in sorrow
full remembrance.
Yes. But what good did 1t 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 ma
terial, got together and knocked my
plans into cooked hat"
They were both laughing now, like
a couple Of children. "And, oh, say!"
gasped Emma. remember Moe Sc
Zig 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 wear.
ing EN- tight, and going petticoat.
less"
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 McChes
ney's pretty figure.
why, look at that" he exclaimed
and pointed with one eager finger.
Mercy" screamed Emma McChes
ney. What is it? Quick! A mouse?'
T. A. Buck shook his head, impa
tiently. Mouse! Lord, no! Plaits!'
"Plaits!"
She looked down, bewildered.
Eyes. 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 II
follows"
1T ought to follow" interrupted EN-
ma McChesney, "but it doesn't. II
lags way behind. These plaits are
stitched down. See? That's the
fsadishness of it. And the petticoa'
underneath-if there is one-must BIZ
just as smooth, and unwrinkled, ant
scant as ever. Don't let 'em fool you.
Buck spread his palms with littl,
gesture Of utter futility.
I'm through. Out with you
scheme. We're ready for 1t. It's oul
last card, whatever 1t is"
There was visible on Emma McChes
ney's face that little tightening of tn,
muscles, that narrowing of the eyelid
which betokens intense earnestness
"Not now. Just because It's ou
last card I want to be sure that In
playing It well. I'll be ready for 20,
tomorrow morning in my office. Com
prepared for the jolt of your younl
life"
For the first time since the begin
ming of the conversation glow of new
courage and hope lighted up T. A
Bucks good-looking features. Hi
fine eyes rested admirfngly upon En-
ma McChesney standing there by thu
great show case. She seemed to "a
date energy, alertness, confidence.
when you begin to talk like that,
he said, II always feel as though
could take hold In way to maxi
those famous Jobs that Hercules
tackled look like little Willie's chore
after school
"Fine!" beamed Emma McChesney
"Just store that up, will you? An,
don't let IL filter out at your finge
tips when l begin to talk tomorrow.
The little scarlet leather clock OF
Emma McChesney's desk pointed Il
q. 90 n m uhan fhara antorad no