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Show SOME EXPERIENCES OF EMMA M'CH E 8 N E Yj By EDNA FERBER AND HER SON JOCK S'XS ' V. THE SELF-STARTER. Mil. KM MA. MVHKXXKY heard the call of bur telephone ,'!; u - the hall. Seated in the oilier- el' her business partner. 'I'. A. line!:, hlic as I'ulhuma lwp ' .1 i .:m. ion of thr T. A. Buck leathcr-lonui leathcr-lonui Ivtticoat eoii. :i nv 'a new soring line. The bii..cr's insistent voice brought her to her feet, even while she frowned at tn.i interruption. "That'll be H.-tuingartucr phoning ah out UlOnO silk snatches. I'.aek in ti iniiiuli)," .said Emma McCliesiiey and humeri' across the hall ju.se ill time to break the second eall. The perfunctory "Hello! Yes!" was followed by a swift change of countenance, counte-nance, a surprised little cry, then in quite another lone "!h, it's you, Jock. I wasn't expecting ' iNo, not too busy to talk to you, you young chump! Co on." A moment of sili-nee, while Mrs. M cChc .n-y ' face funded and (.'lowed like a Kill's as slie listened to the voieo of her son. Then suddenly glow and smile faded. She i'ruw tense. J I or head, t hat had been leaning o ean-lessly ou the hand that held the receiver, came up with a jerk, ".lock Mc.C'hesuoy! " she ga.sped, "you why, von don't mean " 'Now, Emma Md'hi'siicy wan not. a woman given to .jerky conversations, interspersed with exclamation points. Her poise and halanco had become a proverb in the business world. Net her lips were trembling now. Her even woro erv round and lu-iglit. Her lace had flushed, then grown white. 11. -r voice shook a little. "Yes, ot course. I am. Unlv, I'm so surprised. Yes, I'll be home early. Five-thirty lit the latest. " Hho hung up ths receiver with a little lit-tle fumbling gesture. Her hand dropped to her lap, then came up to her throat a moment, dropped again. Hho sat staring straight ahead with eyes that saw one thousand miles away. From his ollice across the hall T. A. Buck strolled in casually. , j "Did Bauingnrtner sav he'd " lie stopped as Mrs. McChesuoy looked up at him. A quick step forward. "What's tho matter, Emma?" " .1 oc k J of k ' ' ".lockf What's happened to the boy?" Thon, as sho still stared at him. her face pitiful, his linnd patted her shoulder. "Dear girl, tell me." lie bent over her, all solicitude. "Don't!" said Emma MeChesney, faintly, nnd shook oil' his hand. " Your Monographer i-au see. What will the ollice 'think. I'lease " "Oh, darn the stenographer! What 8 this had news of Jockf" Kinina llc.Cluwnoy sat up. She smiled a little nervouslv and passed her haud-' haud-' kerchief across' her lips. "I didn't miv it was bud, did 1? That is, not cxnellv bad, 1 suppose." T. A. Buck rati a frenzied hand ovor his bend. "My dear child," with carotid caro-tid politeness, "will you please try to be snnoV 1 find you sitting at your desk, staring into space, your face white as a ghost's, your whole appearance appear-ance that of a person who has received a denth blow. And then you say 'Not exactly bad! ' " "It's this,' explained Emma Mc-Chesnoy Mc-Chesnoy in a hollow tono: "The Berg, Shriner Advertising company has ap-poiuted ap-poiuted Jock manager of thoir new-western new-western branch. They 're opening offices of-fices in Chicago in March." Her lower lip quivered. Sho caught it sharply between her teeth. For one surprised moment T. A. Thick stared in silence. Then a roar broke from him. "Not exactly bad!" ho boomed between laughs. "Not exactly ex-actly b Not exactly, eh?" Then he was off again. Mrs. MeChesney surveyed him in hurt and dignified silence. Then "Well, really, T. A., don't mind mo. What vou find so exquisitely funny fun-ny '' "That's the fnnniost part of it That von, of all people, shouldn't see the 'joke. Not exactly bad!" He wiped his eves. "Why, do you mean to tell mo thnt because your young cub of a pen. bv a heaven-sent stroke of good fortune, has landed a job Hint men twice his ii go would give their eye-teeth eye-teeth to get, I rind yon sitting at :he telephone looking as if he had run off with An-uio the cook, or had had a leg cut off! " "I suppose it is funny. Only, the joke's on me." That's why I can't see it. It means that I am losing him." "If you feel like that, Emma, tell Mm to stay. The boy wouldn't go if he thought it would make vou un-hrppv." un-hrppv." "Not go!" cried Emma MeChesney shnrply. "I'd like to see him dare to i refuse it! ' ' Buck stirred a little uneasily. "I've never heard you talk like this before. be-fore. ' ' , -j 1 sy r , CIp ? ,ililHl:..n"f-iit VI mMm ' d He found his mother on the floor surrounded by piles of i pajamas, socks, shirts and collars. I "You probably never will ajraio." She swimy; round to her le?k. T. A. Buck, strolliuir toward the door, still wore the puzzled look. "I don't know what makes you take this so seriously. Of course the boy will be a lonn- wny off. But then, you've been separated from him before. What's tho ilift'erence now? " "T. A.,'' said Emma Mi'Chesney solemnly, sol-emnly, ".Took will be drawing a man-size man-size salary now. r?omethhi tells me I'll be a grandmother in another two years. Girls ain't lettinrr men liko Jock run around loose, lie '11 be gobbled gob-bled up. .lust you wait.'' "Oh, I don't" know." drawled Buck, mischievously. You've just said he's a headstrong youn cub. He strikes nie as the kind wiio'd raise the dickens dick-ens if his three-minute, epg happened to be five seconds overtime." Emma McChesnev swung around in, her chair. "Look nere, T. A. As business bus-iness partners we've quarreled about everything from silk samples to traveling, trav-eling, men, and as friends we've quarreled quar-reled on every subject from weather to war. I've allowed you to criticise mv soul theories, and my new spring hat. But understand that I'm the only living person who hfls the right to vil-lifv vil-lifv mv son, Jock MeChesney." Tho telephone buzzed a punctuation to this period. " Baumgartner? " inquired Buck, humbly. She listened a moment, then, over her shoulder, "Baumgartner" grimly, her hand covering the mouthpiece- "and if ha dunks that he can work off a lot of last year's silk swatches od Hello! Yes, Mrs. MeChesney talking. Look here, Mr. Baumgartner Baumgart-ner " And for the time being Emma MeChesney, Me-Chesney, mother, was relegated to the background, while Emma MeChesney, secretary of the T. A. Buck I'eatherloom Petticoat compnny, held ths stage. Having said that she would be homo at five-thirty, Mrs. MeChesney was home at five-thirty, being that Kind of a person. Jock came in at sis, breathless, breath-less, bright-eyed, eager and late, being that kind of a person. He found his mother on the floor before the chiffonier in his bedroom, surrounded by piles of pajamas, socks, shirts and collars. He swooped down upon her from the doorway. "What do you think of vour .blue-eved bov? Poor, eh?" Emma McC'hesncv looked up ab-sentlv. ab-sentlv. "Jock, these medium weights of yours didn't wear at all, and you paid live dollars for them." "Medium weights! What in " "You've enough silk socks to last vou the rest of your natural life. Handkerchiefs, Hand-kerchiefs, too. But you'll need pajamas. pa-jamas. ' ' Jock stooped, gathered np an armful arm-ful of miscellaneous undergarments and tossed them into an open drawer. Then he shut the drawer with a bang, reached over, grasped his mother firmly under the arm and brought her to her feet with a swing. " We will now consider the question of summer underweitr ended. Would it bore you too much to touch lightly light-ly on the subject of your son's future .' ' ' Emma MeChesney, tall, straight, hanasome, looked up at her son, taller, straighter. handsomer. Then she took him "by the coat lapels and hugged him. ''You were so bursting with your own glorv that 1 couldn't resist teasing teas-ing vou. Besides. 1 had to do something some-thing to keep my mind off off " "Why blonde dear, yean 're not " 'No. I'm not," gulped Emma Mr-Chesnev. Mr-Chesnev. "Don't Hatter yourself, voting "'tin. Toll me just how it happened. hap-pened. From the beginning. " She oerched at the side of the bed. Jock, hands in pockets, hair a little rumple.1., paced excitedly up and down before her as he talked. "There wasn't any beginning. That's the stunning part of it. 1 just lamied right into the middle of it with both feet. I knew they had been planning to start a big western branch. Rut we all thought they'd pick some big man for it. There are plenty of medium-class dubs to be had. The kind that answers the ad: 'Manager wanted, voting man. preferably married, able to trrnish A-l reference.' Tliev're as Thick as advertising men in Detroit on Monday morning. f'ut we knew that this western bram-h wa L'oing to be given an equal ehnn'e wi-h trn1 New-York New-York ofli.-e. Those big western advertisers adver-tisers (n rdve their money In western west-ern linn? if they can. So we figured i that thoy'd pick a real top-notcher i even Hopper, or JIupp, maybe and start out with a bang. So when the Old Man called me into his office this morning 1 was as unconscious as a babo. Well, you know Berg. IIo's as unexpected as a summer shower and twice as full of electricity. "'Morning, MeChesney!' he said. 'That a New York necktie you're wearing?' wear-ing?' ' 'Strictly,' says T. " 'Ever try anv Chicago ties'?' " 'Not from choice. That time my suit oaso went astray ' " 'M-ni-m-ni, yes.' Ho drummed his fingers on the table top a couple of times. Then 'MeChesney, what have vou learned about advertising :n the last two and a half years?' "I was wise enough as to Bartholomew Bartholo-mew Borg to know that he didn 't mean anv cut-and-dried knowledge. He didn't mean rules of the game. He meant tricks. "'Well,' I said, 'I've learned to watch a man's eyes when I'm talking business to him. If the pupils of his eyes dilate he's listening to you, and thinking about what you're saying. When they contract it means that he's looking straight at you and wearing a rapt" expression. His thoughts are miles away. ' " 'That"so?' said Berg, and sort of grinned. 'Wliat else?' " 'I've learned that one negative argument ar-gument is worth six positive ones; that it never pavs to knock your competitor; compet-itor; that it's wise to fight shy of that joker known as "editorial co-oper-a( ion." ' . " 'That so?' said Berg. 'Anything else? ' "I made up my mind I could play the game as long as he could. " 'I've learned not to loso my temper tem-per when I'm in the middle of a white-hot, white-hot, impassioned business appeal, and the' office bov bounces in to say to ths boss: "Mrs. Jones is waiting. She savs vou wore going to help her nick out wall paper this morning." and Jones says, "Tell her I'll .be there m five minutes. " ' , , , i " 'Sure,' savs I. 'And I've learned to let the other fellow think vour arguments his own. He likes it. I ve learned that tho surest kind of copy is the slow, insidious kind, like the Featherloom Petticoat company's campaign cam-paign That was an ideal campaign because it didn 't urge and insist that the public buv Featherlooms. It just eased the idea to them. It started by sketching a history of the petticoat, beginning with Eve's figlcaf and wonting wont-ing up. Before they knew it they were interested.' " 'That so? That campaign was vor mother's idea.; MeChesney.' You know, mother, he thinks you're a woo-tier woo-tier ' ' "So I am," agreed Emma McChes-nev McChes-nev calmly. "Go on." ''Well. I went on. I told him that I'd learned to stand so that the light wouldn't shine in my client's eyes when T was talking to him. T lost a big order or-der once because the glare from the window irritated the man I was talking talk-ing to. I told Herg all the ricks I d learned, and some I luuln t thought ot till that minute. Berg put m a word now and then. I thought he was sort of euvin" me. as he sometimes does not' unknullv, you know but in that ouiet wav he has. 1-mally I stopped for breath, or something, and he said: . " 'Now let me talk a minute, Mc-Chc-nev Anvbodv can teach you the essential's of 'the "advertising business, if vou've any advertising instinct in vou' But it's what you pick up on the side, bv vour own eflorts and out of vour 'own experience, that lifts you out" of the scrub class. Now. I don't think vou 're an ideal advertising man bv anv means, MeChesney. You're 4t on" training and experience, and vo'u've just begun to acquire that "olden qunlitv known as balance. 1 could name a' hundred men that are better all-around advertising men than vou will ever be. Those men have advertising ad-vertising ability that glows stondily and evenlv, like a well-banked lire. But vou 've 'got the kind of ability that Hares up. dies down, flares up. But cverv flare is a real blaze that lights things r"l while it la-t. and s-nds a now g'ow tliror.lili the veins of business. busi-ness. You've get pc'onality. and vomh. a en'hn-iasm. and a pre. -ions 'park of the real thing known as nd-vei't'sing nd-vei't'sing cjenius. There's no descrjhing it. You know what I mean. -No. yon know enough about actual advertising not 1o run an ad for a Ove-thmnand- dollar motor car in the Police Gazette. All of which leads up to this question: How would you like to buy your neckties neck-ties in Chicago. MeChesneyl' ' ' ' Chicago! ' I blurted. " 'We've taken a suite' of offices in the new Lakcv;.'!. building on Michigan Michi-gan avenue. ouid you like your oince uune in iiialiouuny oi oak," Jock caiuo io a full stop before his mother. His cheeks were scarlet. Hers were pale. lie was breathing quicKly. she was ery quiet. His eyes giowed. So did hers, but the glow was uuumed by a mist. "Mahugony's richer, but make it oak, son. It doesn't show linger-inarks so." Then, quite suddenly, sue stood up, shaking a little, and buried her lace in the boy's shoulder. "Why why. Mother! Don't I Don't. Blonde. We li see each other every few weeks. 1 '11 be coming to New York to see the sights, like the rest of the rubes, and 1 suppose the noise and lights will confuse me so that I'll be glad to get back to the sylvan quiet of Chicago. And then you'll run out there, eh? We'll have regular bats, Mrs. Mac. Dinner and the t neater and supper! Yes?" "Yes," said Emma MeChesney, iu muffled tones that totally lacked enthusiasm. en-thusiasm. "Chicago's really only a suburb of New York, any way, these days, and Emma MeChesney 's head came up sharply. "Look hore, sou. If you're going to live iu Chicago 1 advise you to cut that suburb talk, and sort of forget New York. Chicago's quite a vilfagc, lor an inland settlement, even if it has only two or three million people, peo-ple, and a lake a.s big as all outdoors, i'bat kind of talk won't elect you to the University club, son." So they talked, all through supper and during the evening. Kather, Jock talked and his mother listened, interrupting inter-rupting with only an occasional remark when the bubble of the boy's elation seemed to grow too great. (Juite suddenly Jock was silent. After the almost incessant rush of conversation conversa-tion quiet settled down strangely oh the two seated there in the living-room with its soft-shaded lamps. Jock picked up a magazine, twirled its pages, put it down, strolled into his own room, and back again. "Mother-," he said suddenly, standing before her, "there was a time when you were atraid 1 wasu 't going to pan out, wasn't there?" "Not exactly afraid, dear, just a little lit-tle doubtful, perhaps." Jock smiled a tolerant, forgiving smile. "You see, Mother, you didn't understand, that's all. A woman doesn't. I was all right. A man would have realized that. 1 don't mean, dear, that you haven't always been wonderful, wonder-ful, because you have. But it takes a man to understand a man. When you thought I was going bad on your hands I was just developing, that's all. Remember that time in Chicago, Mother?" ' ' Yes, ' ' answered Emma MeChesney, "I remember." "Now a man would have understood that that was only kid foolishness. If a fellow's got the stuff in him it'll show up, sooner or later. If I hadn't had it in me I wouldn 't be going to Chicago as manager of the Berg, Shriner western office, would I?" "No, dear." Jock looked at her. In an instant he was all contrition and tenderness. "You're tired. I've talked you to death, haven't I? Lordy, it's midnight! And I want to get down early tomorrow. tomor-row. Conference with Mr. Berg, and Hupp." He tried not to sound too important. im-portant. Emma MeChesney took his head between be-tween her hands and kissed him once on the lips, then, standing a-tiptoe, kissed his eyelids with infinite gentleness gentle-ness as you "kiss a baby's eyes. Then she brought his cheek up against hers. And so they stood for a moment, silently. si-lently. Ton minutes later there came the sound of blithe whistling from Jock's room. Jock always whistled when he went to bed and 'when he rose. Even these years of living in a New York apartment had not broken him of the habit. It was a. cheerful disconnected whistling, sometimes high and clear, sometimes under the. breath, sometimes some-times interspersed with song, and sometimes ceasing altogether at critical criti-cal moments, say, during shaving, or while bringing ' the four-in-hand up tight and snug under the collar. It was one of those comfortable little noises that indicate a masculine presence; pres-ence; one of those pleasant, reassuring, man-in-the-housa noises that every woman Iovps. Emma MeChesney, putting herself to bed in her room across the hall, found herself listening, brush poised, lios parted, as though to the exquisite strains of celestial music. There came the thump of a shoe on the floor. An interval of quiet. Then another thump. Without having been conscious of it, Emma MeChesney had grown to love the noises that accompanied Jock's retiring re-tiring and rising. His dressing was al-wavs al-wavs signalized by hangings and thuiup-in"s. thuiup-in"s. His splashings in the tub were tremendous. His morning plunge could bo heard all over the six-room apartment. apart-ment. Mrs. MeChesney used to call gayb- through tho door: "Mercy, ..lock! You sound like a school of 'whales coming up for air." "Y'ou'll think I'm a school of sharks when it comes to breakfast." dock would call back. "Tell Annie to make enough toast. Mum. She's the tightest thing with the toast I ever did " The rest would be lost in a final surging surg-ing splash. The noises in the room across the hall hal subside'! now. She listened 1 more intently: No, a drawer banged. Another. Then: "Hasn't mv grav suit come back from the tailor's?" "It was to be sponged, too. you know. Tie said he'd bring it Wednesday-. This is Tuesday." "Oh.!" Another bang. Then: " 'Night, mother." "Ooodmcht, dear." Creaking sounds, ihen a. long, comfortable sigh of complete relaxation. Emma McC'hesncv wen! on with her brushing. She brushed her hair with the usual' number of swift, oven strokes, from the top of the shining head to the waist. She braided her hair into two plaits, Cretchen fashion. Millions of scnnlv-locked women would have gi en nil thev possessed to loo'-. a Emma MeChesney looked stand:;'." there in kimono and gown. She flicked out the light Then she, too. relaxed noon her pillow with a little sb'h. Ouiet fell on the li'tle aoartment. The "reef noise? came ur to her. now roaring. roar-ing. iio;v growing faint. Emma. Mc-fhesnev Mc-fhesnev lac there sleepless. 1 VV Mi''I'i'! iiUif fsiii'iiwiiiiii "Well, you said you wanted somebody to worry about, didn't you?" Over Emma McChesuey. lying there in the dark, there swept one of those ! unreasoning night-fears. The fear of the living. The fear of life. A straining strain-ing of the eyeballs in the dark. The pounding of heartbeats. She sat up in hod. Her hands went to her face. Her cheeks were burning and her eyes smarted, she felt that she must see Jock. At once. Just to be near him. To touch him. To take him in her arms, with his head in her hollow of her breast, as she used to when he was a baby. Why, he had been a baby only yesterday. And now he was a man. Big enough to stand alone, to live alouc, to do without her. Emma MeCheMiev flung aside ihe covers and sprang out of bed. She thrust her feet in slippers, groped for the kimono at the foot of the bed and tiptoed to the door. She listened. No sound from the other room. She stole across the hall, stopped, listened, gained the door. It was open an inch or move. Just to be near him, to know- that he lay there, sleeping! She pushed the door very, very gently. Then she stood iu the doorway a moment, scarcely breathing, her head thrust forward, her whole .body tense with listening. She could not hear him breathe. She caught her breath again in that unreasoning fear and took a quick step forward. "Stop or I'll shoot!" said a voice. Simultaneously the light flashed en. Emma MeChesney found herself blinking blink-ing at a determined young man who was steadily pointing a short, chubby, businesslike looking steel affair in her direction. Then the hand that held the steel dropped. "What is this, anyway?" demanded Joe!;, rather crossly. "A George Cohan Co-han comedy?" Emma McChesnev leaned agaiust the foot of the bed rather weakly. "What, did you think " "What would you think if you heard someone come sneaking along the hall, stopping, listening, sneaking to vour door, and then opening it, and listening listen-ing again, and sneaking in? What would vou think it was? How did 1 know you were going around making social calls at 2 o'clock in the morning?" morn-ing?" Suddenly Emma MeChesney began to laugh. She leaned over the footboard foot-board "and laughed hysterically, her head in her arms. Jock stared a moment mo-ment in offended disapproval. Then the humor of it caught him, and he buried his head in his pillow to stifle unseemly shrieks. His legs kicked spas-modicallv spas-modicallv beneath the bedclothes. As suddenly as she had begun to laugh Mrs. MeChesney became very sober. , , "Stop it, Jock! Tell me, why weren t vou sleeping?" . " "I don't know," replied Jock, as suddenly solemn. "I sort of began to think, and I couldn't sleep." "What were you thinking of? Jock looked down at the bedclothes and traced a pattern with one forefinger fore-finger on tho sheet. Then he looked up. "Thinking of vou." "Oh'" said Emma MeChesney, like a bashful schoolgirl, "Of me!" Jock sat up very straight, and clasped: his hands about his knees. "1 got to thinking of what I had said about havinf made good all alone. That's rot. It isn't so. I was striped with veliow like a stick of lemon candy. If I've got this far. it's all because of you. I've been thinking all aiong that I w-as the original electric, self-starter, self-starter, when you've really had to gel-out gel-out and crank me every few miles. Into Emma MeChesney 's face there came a wonderful look. Tt was the sort of look with which a newly-made angel might receive her crown ond harp. It was the look with which a war hero sees the medal pinned on his breast. It was the look of one who has come into her reward. Therefore: There-fore: "What nonsense! ' said Emma McChesnev. Mc-Chesnev. " 1 f V011 hadn't had it in vou itVonldn't have como out." "It wasn't in me. iu tho first place," contested Jock stubbornly. "You planted plant-ed it." From her stand at the foot of the bed she looked at him. her eyes glowing glow-ing brighter and brighter with that wonderful look. "Now see here'' severely--" I want van to go to sleep. T don't intend to stand here and dipule about votir ethical innards at this hour. J 'ni going to ki-s you acain. ' ' "tdi, "well, if you miit," grinned Jock resignedly, and folded her in a bear-hug. ,, ' To Emma MeChesney it seemed that the next three weeks leaped by, not by days, but in one great bound. And tiio day came when a little, chattering, chatter-ing, animated grout) clustered about the slim young chap who was fumbling with his tickets, glancing at his watch, signaling sig-naling a porter for his bags, talking, laughing, tryiug to hide the pangs of departure under a cloak of gayety and badinage that deceived no, one.. Least of all did it deceive the two women who stood there. Tho eyes of the older woman never left his face. The eyes of the younger one seldom were raised to his, but she saw his every expression. expres-sion. Once Emma MeChesney 's eyes shifted a little so as to include both the girl and the boy in her gaze. Grace Gait in her blue serge and smart blue hat was worth a separate glance. Sam Hupp w-as there, T. A. Buck, Hopper, who was to be with him in Chicago for the first few weeks, three or four of the younger men in the office, frankly euvious and heartily congratulatory. con-gratulatory. They followed him to his train, all laughter and animation. "If this train doesn't go in two minutes," said Jock, "I'll get scared and chuck the whole business. Funny, but I'm not so keen on going as I was three weeks ago. ' ' 1 His eyes rested on the girl in tho blue serge and the smart hat. Emma MeChesney saw that. She saw that his eves still rested there as he stood on the observation platform when the train pulled out. The sight did not pain her as she thought it wouid. There was success in every line of him as ho stood t here, hat in hand. Th -re was assurance in every breath of i iai. His clothes, bi skin, his clear eyes his slim body, all were as they should i'O. He had made a place iu the woi 1.1. lie was to lie builder of ideas. sho thought of him. and of the girl in tile blue serge, and of their children-to-be. Her breast swelled exultantly. Her head came up. This was her handiwork. Sho looked at it. and found that it was good.- "Let's strike for the afternoon and call it a holiday." suggested Buck. Emma MeChesney turned. The train was gone. " T. A., you'll never grow up." "Never want lo. Come on, let s play hooky, Emma." "Can't. I've a dozen letters to get out. and Miss I.oeb wants to show mo flint new knickcrbocker design of hers. ' 1 Thev drove back to the office nlmest iu silence. Emma Me.Chesnov made straight for her desk and began dictating dic-tating letters with an energy that bordered bor-dered on fnrv. At five o'clock she was still working. At five thirty T. -S. Buck came in to find her still surroundw od hy papers, samples, models. "What is this?" he demanded, wrathf ally, "an all-night session f" Emma McChesuey looked up from her desk. Her fneo was flushed, her eyes bright, but. t.hero was about her an indelinablo air of weariness. "T. A., I'm afraid to go borne. I'll rattle around in that einjdy llat liko a hickory nut in a barrel. "We'll have dinner downtown and go to the theater. ' ' "No use. I'll have to go home some time." "Now, Emma,' remonsl rated Buck, "you'll soon got used to if. Think of all the years you got, along ..with-out ..with-out him. You were happy, weren't vou ? ' ' "Happy because I had somebody to work for, somebody to plan for, somebody some-body to worry about. When 1 think of what that fiat will be without him why, just to wake up and know that you can say good morning to someone who cares! That's worth living for, isn't it!" , "Emma," said T. A., evenly, "do vou realize that you are virtually hounding me into asking, you to marry me?" "T. A.!" gasped Emma MeChesney. "Well, you said you wanted somebody some-body to worry about, didn't you?" A li 1 1 lo whimsical smile lay lightly on his lips. "Timothy Buck, I'm 'over forty years old."' "Emilia, in another minute T'm going to grow sentimental, and nothing can stop me." She looked down at her hands. There fell a little silence. Buck stirred, leaned forward. She looked ua front the little watch that ticked awVy'at her wrist. "The minute's up, T. A.," said lim-' ma MeChesney. (Copyright, j ni 5, by the MeCluro Xcivsv paper Syndicate.) |