week after next. But
the next boat sails in three days." She picked up a piece of paper
from her desk and tossed it into Buck's hand. "That's the letter I was
reading when you came in. No; don't read it. Let me tell you instead."

Buck threw cane, hat, gloves, and letter on the broad desk, thrust his
hands into his pockets, and prepared for argument. But he got only as
far as: "But I won't allow it! You couldn't get away in three days,
at any rate. And at the end of two weeks you'll have come to your
senses, and besides----"

"T. A., I don't mean to be rude. But here are your hat and stick and
gloves. It's going to take me just forty-eight hours to mobilize."

"But, Emma, even if you do get in ahead of Meyers, it's an insane idea.
A woman can't go down there alone. It isn't safe. It's bad enough for
a man to tackle it. Besides, we're holding our own."

"That's just it. When a doctor issues a bulletin to the effect that
the patient is holding his own, you may have noticed that the relatives
always begin to gather."

"It's a bubble, this South American idea. Oshkosh and Southport and
Altoona money has always been good enough for us. If we can keep that
trade, we ought to be thankful."

Emma McChesney pushed her hair back from her forehead with one gesture
and patted it into place with another. Those two gestures, to one who
knew her, meant loss of composure for one instant, followed by the
quick regaining of it the next.

"Let's not argue about it now. Suppose we wait until to-morrow--when
it's too late. I am thankful for the trade we've got. But I don't
want to be narrow about it. My thanking capacity is such that I can
stretch it out to cover some things we haven't got yet. I've been
reading up on South America."

"Reading!" put in Buck hotly. "What actual first-hand information can
you get about a country from books?"

"Well, then, I haven't only been reading. I've been talking to
everyone I could lay my hands on who has been down there and who knows.
Those South American women love dress--especially the Argentines. And
do you know what they've been wearing? Petticoats made in England! You
know what that means. An English woman chooses a petticoat like she
does a husband--for life. It isn't only a garment. It's a shelter.
It's built like a tent. If once I can introduce the T. A. Buck
Featherloom petticoat and knickerbocker into sunny South America,
they'll use those English and Ge