The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1914-12-18
Knee-Deep in Knockers
Business Adventure of Emma McChesney
Observation-Disclosures Observation-Disclosures
By EDNA EERBER
Auiho, Of '.Da~n OIIa,s. '.Buaered Side Doom. G

me meaning Known as HTOutS, anu
che column of figures under the head
Ing known as LOSS" are so unevenly
balanced that the wrong side of the
ledger says, then to the listening
stockholders there comes the painful
thought that at the next regular meet
ing it is perilously possible that the
reading may come under the heads
OF assets and liabilities.
There had been a meeting in the
Offices Of the T. A. Buck Featherloom
Petticoat company, New York. The
quarterly report had had startlingly
iopsided sound. After 1t was over
Mrs. Emma McChesney, secretary of
the company, followed T. A. Buck, it's
president, into the big, bright show
room. T. A. Bucks hands were thrust
deep into his pockets. His teeth wor-
ried a cigar, savagely. Care, that
ciawing, mouthing bag, perched on his
brow, tore at his heart
He turned to face Emma McChes-
ney.
Well" he said, bitterly, sit hasn't
taken us long, has it? Fathers been
dead 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, scrutinized the harassed
man before her for long minute.
What rotten football material you
would have made, wouldn't you?" she
observed.
''Oh, don't know" answered T. A.
Buck, through his teeth. 81 can stand
as stiff scrimmage as the next one.
But this isn't game. You take things
TOO lightly. You're woman. l don't
uhink you know what this means"
Emma McChesney's lips opened as
do those of one whose tongues end
holds quick and singing 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 don't take myself serious
sy. I'd have been dead ten years ago
it had. But / do take my job seri-
ously. Don't forget that for a minute.
You talk the way man always talks
when his pride is hurt"
Pride! 1t isn't that"
'Oh, yes, it is. l didn't sell T. A.
Bucks featherloom petticoats on the
road for almost ten years without
learning a little something about men
and business. When your father died,
and / learned that he had shown his
appreciation of my work and loyalty
by making me secretary of this great
company, ] didn't think Of it as a
iegacy-a stroke of good fortune"
''No?"
No. To me 1t was a sacred trust
something to be guarded, nursed, cher
ished. And now you say we've run
this concern into the ground. Do you
honestly think that?"
T. A. shrugged impotent shoulders.
Figures don't lie." He plunged into
another fathom of gloom. Another
year like this and we're done for"
Emma McChesney came over and
put one firm hand on T. A. Bucks
dropping shoulder. It was a strange
little act for a woman-the sort of
thing a man does when he would heart.
en- another man.
Wake up!" she said, lightly. Wake
up. and listen to the brides sing.
rNhorA scn,& 60 h.
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 q
moment thoughtfully. Then she
stepped to the tall show case, pushed
back the sliding glass door, and point.
ed to the rows of brilliant-hued petit.
coats that hung close-packed within.
Look at 'em!" she commanded, dis
gust 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 Nc
Chesney drew from the rack q skirt
of kings blue satin messaline and
held it at arr length.
And they call that thing a petit
coat! Why, fifteen years ago the ma
terial in this skirt wouldn't have made
even a fair-sized sleeve"
pnrL ro0ordod tho r.fkiroot
moodily. II don't see how t,aey gel
around in the darned thinge. hon
estly don't see how they wear EN-"
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-soms
sort of an"
Il tell you they don't. Here. List
en-. Three years ago our taffeta skirts
ran from thirty-six to thirty-eigh
yards to the dozen. We paid from
ninety cents to one dollar and five
cents yard. Now our skirts run from
twenty-five to twenty-eight yards tt
the dozen. The silk costs us from fifty
to sixty cents yard. Silk skirts USED
to be luxury. Now they're not ever
necessity
We'll, what's the answer? I've
been pondering some petticoat prob
lens myself. ! know we've got to sci
three skirts today to make the prof.
that We used to make on one thret
s. years ago"
Emma McChesney had the brave
heartedness to laugh. This Skin,
business reminds me of a game We