rman petticoats for linoleum
floor-coverings. Heaven knows they'll fit the floor better than the
human form!"

But Buck was unsmiling. The muscles of his jaw were tense.

"I won't let you go. Understand that! I won't allow it!"

"Tut, tut, T. A.! What is this? Cave-man stuff?"

"Emma, I tell you it's dangerous. It isn't worth the risk, no matter
what it brings us."

Emma McChesney struck an attitude, hand on heart. "'Heaven will
protect the working girrul,'" she sang.

Buck grabbed his hat.

"I'm going to wire Jock."

"All right! That'll save me fifty cents. Do you know what he'll wire
back? 'Go to it. Get the tango on its native tairn'--or words to that
effect."

"Emma, use a little logic and common sense!"

There was a note in Buck's voice that brought a quick response from
Mrs. McChesney. She dropped her little air of gayety. The pain in his
voice, and the hurt in his eyes, and the pleading in his whole attitude
banished the smile from her face. It had not been much of a smile,
anyway. T. A. knew her genuine smiles well enough to recognize a
counterfeit at sight. And Emma McChesney knew that he knew. She came
over and laid a hand lightly on his arm.

"T. A., I don't know anything about logic. It is a hot-house plant.
But common sense is a field flower, and I've gathered whole bunches of
it in my years of business experience. I'm not going down to South
America for a lark. I'm going because the time is ripe to go. I'm
going because the future of our business needs it. I'm going because
it's a job to be handled by the most experienced salesman on our staff.
And I'm just that. I say it because it's true. Your father, T. A.,
used to see things straighter and farther than any business man I ever
knew. Since his death made me a partner in this firm, I find myself,
when I'm troubled or puzzled, trying to see a situation as he'd see it
if he were alive. It's like having an expert stand back of you in a
game of cards, showing you the next move. That's the way I'm playing
this hand. And I think we're going to take most of the tricks away
from Fat Ed Meyers."

T. A. Buck's eyes traveled from Emma McChesney's earnest, glowing face
to the hand that rested on his arm. He reached over and gently covered
that hand with his own.

"I suppose you must be right, little woman. You always are. Dad was
the founder of this business. It was the pride of his life. That
word 'founder' has two