sisters from the shackles that have bound their ankles for five years."

Spalding, unimpressed, folded another skirt.

"Um, maybe! But what's that line about slaves hugging their chains?"

The day following, Spalding and his flying squad scattered to spread
the light among the skirt trade. And things went wrong from the start.

The first week showed an ominous lack of those cheering epistles
beginning, "Enclosed please find," etc. The second was worse. The
third was equally bad. The fourth was final. The second week in
March, Spalding returned from a territory which had always been known
as firmly wedded to the T. A. Buck Featherloom petticoat. The Middle
West would have none of him.

They held the post-mortem in Emma's bright little office, and that lady
herself seemed to be strangely sunny and undaunted, considering the
completeness of her defeat. She sat at her desk now, very interested,
very bright-eyed, very calm. Buck, in a chair at the side of her desk,
was interested, too, but not so calm. Spalding, who was accustomed to
talk while standing, leaned against the desk, feet crossed, brows
furrowed. As he talked, he emphasized his remarks by jabbing the air
with his pencil.

"Well," said Emma quietly, "it didn't go."

"It didn't even start," corrected Spalding.

"But why?" demanded Buck. "Why?"

Spalding leaned forward a little, eagerly.

"I'll tell you something: When I started out with that little garment,
I thought it was a joke. Before I'd been out with it a week, I began
to like it. In ten days, I was crazy about it, and I believed in it
from the waistband to the hem. On the level, Mrs. Buck, I think it's a
wonder. Now, can you explain that?"

"Yes," said Emma; "you didn't like it at first because it was a shock
to you. It outraged all your ideas of what a skirt ought to be. Then
you grew accustomed to it. Then you began to see its good points. Why
couldn't you make the trade get your viewpoint?"

"This is why: Out in Manistee and Oshkosh and Terre Haute, the girls
have just really learned the trick of walking in tight skirts. It's as
impossible to convince a Middle West buyer that the exaggerated full
skirt is going to be worn next summer as it would be to prove to him
that men are going to wear sunbonnets. They thought I was trying to
sell 'em masquerade costumes. I may believe in it, and you may believe
in it, and T. A.; but the girls from Joplin--well, they're from Joplin