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

nat Tie SklTt business COUay. mere
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 II"
T. A. rose as YEARLY as he had sat
down. Even the most optimistic OF
watchers could have discerned no
CLEAN of enthusiasm on his face.
Il thought" he said istlessly, that
| you and had tried every possible
scheme to stimulate 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! l 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
glorious-er-past,w when the hired girl
used to complain and threaten to
leave because every woman in the
! family had at least three rufled, en-
broidery-founced white muslin petit
coats on the line on Mondays"
The lines about T. A. Bucks mouth
relaxed into grim smile.
Remember that feature you got
them to run in the Sunday Sphere?
The one headed Are Skirts Growing
| Fuller, and Where?"
| do l remember it," walled Emma
McChesney. "And can l ever forget
the money we put into that fringed
model we called the Carmencita! We
made it up SO it could retail for a
dollar ninety-fve, and / 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 q
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 In answer to
those 81 ap-shots showing what took
place every time a woman climbed a
car step, they came back with pictures
Of the styles of 81, proving that the
street car effect is nothing to what
happened to a belle of '61 if she
CHANGED to sit down or get up too sud-
denly in the hoop-skirt days"
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
rleful 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 1t? 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 1t
follows"
1T ought to follow" interrupted En-.
ma McCnesney, "but it doesn't. 1t
lags WEI behind. These plaits are
stitched down. See? That's the
fiendisbness Of it. And the petticoat
underneath-if there is one-must be
just as smooth. and unwrinkled, and
scant MS ever. Don't let 'em fool YOU
Buck spread his palms with a little
gesture of utter futility.
I'm through. Out with your
J 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 eyelida
which betokens intense earnestness:
} the gathering of all the forces before
taking a momentous step. Then, as
J quickly, her face cleared. She shook
her head with little air of sudden
| decision.
! Not now. Just because it's ouI
last card want to be sure that I'm
} playing it 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 of new
:. courage and hope lighted up T. A
Bucks good-looking features. His
fine ewes rested admiringly mon En-