The Lambertville record. [volume] (Lambertville, N.J.) 1872-1968, 1918-02-21

NopyflRnt ny 1Feuel
Six months of bad luck had logged
the footsteps of Mrs. Emma McChes-
ney, travelling saleswoman for the T.
A. Buck Featherloom Petticoat com.
pany, New York, 1t had started with
a six-weeks' Illness endured in the dis
comfort of stuffy little hotel bed
room at Glen Rock, MINI. By August
she was back in New York, attending
to out-of-town buyers.
Those friendly middle western per-
sons showed dismay at her pale, hol-
ow-eyed appearance. They spoke to
der of olive oil taken thrice day, of
mountain air, of cold baths, and, above
I'll, of the ACCESSIBILITY of leaving the
load and taking an inside position. At
that Emma McChesney always showed
signs of unmistakable irritation.
In September her son, Jock McChes-
ney, just turned eighteen, went blithe-
ly off to college, disguised as mil
lionaire's son in blue Norfolk, silk
hose, fiat-heeled shoes, correctly
mounted walrus bag, and next-week' 8
style in fall hats AS the train glided
out of the great shed Emma McChes-
ney had waved her handkerchief, smil-
ing like fury and seeing nothing but
an indistinct blur as the observation
platform slipped around the curve.
In October it was plain that spring
skirts, instead of being full as pre-
dicted, we're as scant and plaitless as
ever. That spelled gloom for the pet
ticoat business. 1t was necessary to
sell three of the present absurd style
to make the profit that had come from
the sale of one skirt five years before.
The last week in November, tragedy
stalked upon the scene in the death at
Marienbad of old T. A. Buck, Mrs. Nc
Chesney's stanch friend and beloved
employer.
They had understood each other,
those two, from the time that Emma
McChesney, divorced, penniless, refus-
ing support from the man she had
married eight years before, had found
work in the office of the T. A. Buck
Featherloom Petticoat company.
stenograFser to head stenographer
from head stenographer to inside
saleswoman, from that to minor road
territory, and finally to the position of
travelling representative through the
coveted middle western territory.
, Old T. A. Buck, gruff, grim, direct
far-seeing, kindly, shrewd-he had
known Emma McChesney for what she
was worth. Once, when she had been
disclosing to him clever business
scheme which might be turned into
good advertising material, old Buck
had slapped his knee with one broad
thick palm and had said:
Emma McChesney, you ought to
have been a man. With that head on
a mans shoulders you could put us out
of business"
81 could do it anyway" Mrs. McChes'
ney had retorted.
Old Buck had regarded her mo
ment over his tortoise-shell trimmed
glasses. Then, Il believe you could,
he had said. quietly and thoughtfully
That brings her up to December. TIC
some few millions of people De
c-e-m-b-e-r spells Christmas. But to
Emma McChesney it spelled the dread
ed spring trip 1t spelled trains stalled
in snowdrifts, baggage delayed, cold
hotel bedrooms, harassed, irritable
buyers
1t was just six o'clock on the eve
ming of December 9th when Mrs. EN-
ma McChesney swung off the train al
Columbus, o., five hours late.
Columbus, Ohio, was Featherloom
town. Emma McChesney had fond
ness for it, with it's half rustic, hall
metropolitan air. Sometimes she
likened it to country girl in velvet
gown, and sometimes to city girl IN
white muslin and blue sash. Singer
C French always had Featherloon
window twice year.
The hotel lobby wore strangely de
serted look. December is a slack
month for actors and travelling men
Mrs. McChesney registered automatic
ally, received her mail, exchanged
greetings with the affable clerk.
Send my trunks up to my sample
room as soon as they get in. Three Of
em-two sample-trunks and my per
sonal trunk And l want to see a por
ter about putting up some extra tables
You see, I'm two days late now. l ex
pect two buyers tomorrow morning
"Send EN- right up, Mrs. McChes
ney," the clerk assured her. "Jo1l at
tend to those tables. Too bad about
old Buck How's the skirt business?'
Skirts? There is no such thing,
corrected Emma McChesney, gently
"Sausage-casings business. you mean.
Guess you're right, at that. By the
way, how's that handsome youngstel
of yours? He's not travelling with you
this trip"
There came a wonderful glow into
Emma McChesney's tired face
COCKS at college Coming home fol
the holidays We're going to have &
dizzy week in New York I'm wild tt
see if those three months of college
have done anything to him, bless hi!
heart! Oh, kind sir, forgive moth
er's fond rawlings! Where'd that young
ster go with my bag?"
Up at last in the stuffy, unfriendly
steam-smelling hotel bedroom, Emma
McChesney prepared to make hersel
comfortable.
She was glancing through her mail