Eagle River review. [volume] (Eagle River, Wis.) 1890-1927, 1914-12-18

lIs time to try the impossible. The
possibilities haven't worked NV
land! / could write book IN the
oecilne and fall of the petticoat be-
ginning with the billowy white mus.
lin variety, and working up to the
present slinky messaline affair. When
l tnlnk OF those dear days of the
siorlo us-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-
oroldery-fiounced white muslin petti-
coats on the line on Mondays
Inc lines about t. A. Bucks mouth
relaxed into grim smile
Remember that feature Won cot
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 Carmencital We
made 1t 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"
1. 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
McChesneys 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
a 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 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 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 we'll 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, MOI 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? If 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
fiendishness of it. And the petticoat
underneath-if there is one-must be
just as smooth, and unwrinkled, and
scant as ever. DOM let EN- fool you.
Buck spread his palms with little
gesture of utter futility.
sI'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 | 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 upon EN-
ma McChesney standing there by the
great show case. She seemed to ra'
date energy, alertness, confidence. J.
when you begin to talk like that
he said, Il always feel as though !
could take hold in way to make
those famous jobs that Hercules
tackled look like little Willies chores
after school.
~Fine!" beamed Emma McChesney.
.sJust store that up, will you? And
don't let it filter out at your finger
tins when | begin to talk tomorrow.
The little scarlet leather clock on
| 49,, NFofrhocnav'S desk pointed to