The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1914-12-18

see r. 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 gargoyle. the way
he always did when something tickled
him. That's how sure I am"
| T. A. Buck stood up abruptly. He
shrugged his shoulders. His face
looked strangely white and drawn.
I'll leave 1t 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" am
swered Emma McChesney, briskly.
well, now, suppose we talk machin-
cry and girls, and cutters for a
while"
Two months later found T. A. Buck
and his sales manager, both shirt
sleeved, both smoking nervously, as
they marked, ticketed, folded, ar
ranged. They were getting out the
travellers spring lines. Entered Mrs.
McChesney, and stood cycling them
! worriedly. It was her dozenth visit
I to the stock nom that morning. "A
strange restlessh>ss seemed to trou.
show room, from show room to fac
tory.
Whats the trouble?" inquired T
A. Buck, squirting up at her through
cloud Of cigar smoke.
"Oh, nothing" answered Mrs. Nc
Chesney, and stood lingering the piles
of glistening satin garments, queer
faraway look in her eyes. Then she
turned and walked listlessly toward
the door. There she encountered
Spalding-Billy Spalding of the GOV
eted middle-western territory. Billy
Spalding, the long-headed, quick
thinking: Spalding the persuasive
Spalding the mixer, Spalding on whom
depended the fate of the T. A. Buck
featherloom knickerbocker and pa
jana.
Morning! When do you star
out?" she asked him.
I'm the morning. Cad, that's some
line, what? I'm itching to spread it
You're certainly a wonder-child, Mrs
McChesney. Why, the boys"
Emma McChesney sighed, somberly
THAT line does sort of-well, tug al
your heart-strings, doesn't it?" A
eight the next morning there burs
upon Mrs. McChesney a distracted T
A. Buck.
Hear about Spalding?" he demand
ed.
"Spalding: No."
His wife 'phoned from st. Luke's
Taken with an appendicitis attack a
midnight. They operated at five thi
morning. One of those had-it-been
y-four-hours-later-etc. operations
That settles u.s."
Poor kid" replied Emma McChes
ney. Rough on him and his brand
new wife,"
Poor kid! Yes. But how abou
his territory? How about our new
line? How about
ooh, that's all right" said Emm;
McChesney, cheerfully.
I'D like to know how! We haven
man equal to the territory. He's ou
one best bet"
'Oh, that's all right" said Mrs. Nc
Chesney again, smoothly.
| A l;ffla ;,,,poftonk ov,lo brDIr
from T. A. Buck. At that Emma Nc
Chesney smiled. Her new listlessnes
and abstraction seemed to drop from
her. She braced her shoulders, an,
smiled her old sunny, hearteninI
smile.
I'm going out with that line. In
going to leave trail of pajamas an
knickerbockers from Duluth to Can
ton"
you! No. you WON'T A dull
painful red had swept into T. A
Bucks face. 1t was answered by
food of scarlet in Mrs. McChesney'
countenance.
Il don't get you," she said. or
! afraid you don't realize what this tri
means. It's going to be a fight
They'll have to be coaxed and bullie
and cajoled, and reasoned with. It
going to be 'show-me' trip"
T. A. Buck took quick step fol
ward. That's just why. l won't hav
you fighting with buyers, taking thei
insults, kowtowing to them, salvin
them. lit isn't woman's work"
Emma McChesney was sorting tn
&C ntents of her desk with quick, nery
Gus fingers. I'll get the twentieth
century," she said, over her shoulder
Don't argue, please. If it's no worl
> for woman then suppose 1t follow
that I'm unwomanly. For ten year
travelled this country selling T.
Bucks featherloom petticoats. NJ
first trip on the road / was in tn
twenties-and pretty, too. I'm won
: an of thirty-seven now"
She arose, and shut her desk with
bang, locked it, and turned flushe
and beaming face toward T. A. Buck
as he stood frowning before her.
Your father believed in me-fror
the ground up. We understood eacl
other, he and /. You've learned 10
in the last year and half, T. A. Ju
nior-that-was, but there's one thin
you haven't mastered. When will yo
learn to believe in Emma McChes
ney?"