The circle banner. [volume] (Circle, Mont.) 1914-1939, 1914-12-25


possibilities haven't worked. Ny
land! I could write 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
I think of those dear 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 ruf1ed, 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 it," walled Emma
McChesney. "And can / ever forget
the money we put into that fringed
model we called the Carmencita! We
made 1t up so 1t could retail for a
dollar ninety-five, and l could have
sworn that the women would MAIN
each other to get to it. But it 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
a sigh. She shook her head in sorrow
| full 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 ma
terial, got together and knocked my
plans into a cooked hat"
They were both laughing now, like
couple Of children. And, oh, say!"
gasped Emma, remember Moe Sc
lig of the Fine-Form Skirt company,
trying to get the doctors to state that
hobble skirts we're making women
kmock-kneed! oh, mercy"
But their laugh ended in a little
rueful silence. 1t 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 'em 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.
Yes. In your skirt Three plaits
at the front left, and three in the
back That's new, isn't it? II outer
skirts are being made fuller, then it
follows"
1T ought to follow" interrupted EN-
ma McChesney, "but it doesn't. 1t
lags way behind. These plaits are
stitched down. See? That's the
fendishness Of 1t. And the petticoat
underneath-if there is one-must be
Just as smooth, and unwrinkled, and
scant as ever. Don't let 'em fool you"
Buck spread his palms with little
gesture Of utter futility.
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 McChes-
ney's face that little Tightening OF the
muscles, that narrowing Of the eyelids
which betokens intense earnestness.
mot now. Just because it's our
last card l want to be sure that I'm
playing 1t well. I'll be ready for you
tomorrow morning In my office. Come
prepared for the Jolt Of your young
life."
For the first time since the begin
ming of the conversation glow ofnew
courage and hope lighted up T. A.
Bucks good-looking features. His
nne eyes rested admiringly upon EN-
ma McChesney standing there by the
great show case. She seemed to "a
date energy, alertness, confidence.
When you begin to talk like that"
ho said, Il always feel as though
could take hold in q way to make
those famous jobs that Hercules E
tackled look like little Willie's chores
after school"
"F1ne!" beamed Emma McChesney.
Just store that up, will you? And
1on't let it filter out at your finger
lips when / begin to talk tomorrow"
The little scarlet leather clock on
Emma McChesney's desk pointed to i
,:29 a. m. when there entered her
'fice an Immediately CARRIED, mirac- '
llously shaver, healthily rosy young
man who looked ten )
years younger than the harassed,
T. A. Buck with whom she I
ia aIYnoat n,la rrolod fha avon{uO ha .