offices and showrooms of the T. A. Buck
Featherloom Petticoat Company, the foremost insisted on dealing only
with her. She was proud of her following. She liked their loyalty.
Their preference for her was the subtlest compliment that was in their
power to pay. Ethel Morrissey, whose friendship dated back to the days
when Emma McChesney had sold Featherlooms through the Middle West, used
to say laughingly, her plump, comfortable shoulders shaking, "Emma, if
you ever give me away by telling how many years I've been buying
Featherlooms of you, I'll--I'll call down upon you the spinster's
curse."

Early Monday morning, Mrs. McChesney, coming down the hall from the
workroom, encountered Miss Ella Sweeney, of Klein & Company, Des
Moines, Iowa, stepping out of the elevator. A very skittish Miss
Sweeney, rustling, preening, conscious of her dangling black earrings
and her Robespierre collar and her beauty-patch. Emma McChesney met
this apparition with outstretched, welcoming hand.

"Ella Sweeney! Well, I'd almost given you up. You're late this fall.
Come into my office."

She led the way, not noticing that Miss Sweeney came reluctantly, her
eyes on the closed door across the way.

"Sit down," said Emma McChesney, and pulled a chair nearer her desk.
"No; wait a minute! Let me look at you. Now, Ella, don't try to tell
me that THAT dress came from Des Moines, Iowa! Do I! Why, child, it's
distinctive!"

Miss Sweeney, still standing, smiled a pleased but rather preoccupied
smile. Her eyes roved toward the door.

Emma McChesney, radiating good will and energy, went on:

"Wait till you see our new samples! You'll buy a million dollars'
worth. Just let me lead you to our new Walk-Easy bifurcated skirt. We
call it the 'one-stepper's delight.'" She put a hand on Ella Sweeney's
arm, preparatory to guiding her to the showrooms in the rear. But Miss
Sweeney's strange reluctance grew into resolve. A blush, as real as it
was unaccustomed, arose to her bepowdered cheeks.

"Is--I--that is--Mr. Buck is in, I suppose?"

"Mr. Buck? Oh, yes, he's in."

Miss Sweeney's eyes sought the closed door across the hall.

"Is that--his office?"

Emma McChesney stiffened a little. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"You have guessed it," she said crisply. "Mr. Buck's name is on the
door, and you are looking at it."

Miss Sweeney looked down, looked up, twiddled the chain about her neck.

"You want to see Mr. Buck?" asked Em