"Then fire away."

Mrs. McChesney leaned forward, breathing a trifle fast. Her eyes were fastened on her listener.

"Here's the plan. We'll make Featherloom Petticoats because there still are some women who have kept their senses. But we'll make them as a side line. The thing that has got to keep us afloat until full skirts come in again will be a full and complete line of women's satin messaline knickerbockers made up to match any suit or gown, and a full line of pajamas for women and girls. Get the idea? Scant, smart, trim little taupe-gray messaline knickers for a taupe gray suit, blue messaline for blue suits, brown messaline for brown--"

T. A. Buck stared, open-mouthed, the paper on which he had been scrawling fluttering unnoticed to the floor.

"Look here!" he interrupted. "Is this supposed to be humorous?"

"And," went on Emma McChesney, calmly, "in our full and complete, not to say nifty line of women's pajamas--pink pajamas, blue pajamas, violet pajamas, yellow pajamas, white silk--"

T. A. Buck stood up. "I want to say," he began, "that if you are jesting, I think this is a mighty poor time to joke. And if you are serious I can only deduce from it that this year of business worry and responsibility has been too much for you. I'm sure that if you were--"

"That's all right," interrupted Emma McChesney. "Don't apologize. I purposely broke it to you this way, when I might have approached it gently. You've done just what I knew you'd do, so it's all right.

After you've thought it over, and sort of got chummy with the idea, you'll be just as keen on it as I am."

"Never!"

"Oh, yes, you will. It's the knickerbocker end of it that scares you.

Nothing new or startling about pajamas, except that more and more women are wearing 'em, and that no girl would dream of going away to school without her six sets of pajamas. Why, a girl in a regulation nightie at one of their midnight spreads would be ostracized. Of course I've thought up a couple of new kinks in 'em--new ways of cutting and all that, and there's one model--a washable crepe, for traveling, that doesn't need to be pressed--but I'll talk about that later."

T. A. Buck was trying to put in a word of objection, but she would have none of it. But at Emma McChesney's next words his indignation would brook no barriers.

"Now," she went on, "the feature of the knickerbockers will be this: They've got to be ready for the boys' spring trip, and in all the larger cities, especially in the hustling Middle-Western towns, and along the coast, too, I'm planning to have the knickerbockers introduced at private and exclusive exhibitions, and worn by--get this, please--worn by living models. One big store in each town, see?

Half a dozen good-looking girls--"

"Never!" shouted T. A. Buck, white and shaking. "Never! This firm has always had a name for dignity, solidness, conservatism--"

"Then it's just about time it lost that reputation. It's all very well to hang on to your dignity when you're on solid ground, but when you feel things slipping from under you the thing to do is to grab on to anything that'll keep you on your feet for a while at least. I tell you the women will go wild over this knickerbocker idea. They've been waiting for it."

"It's a wild-cat scheme," disputed Buck hotly. "It's a drowning man's straw, and just about as helpful. I'm a reasonable man--"

"All unreasonable men say that," smiled Emma McChesney.

"--I'm a reasonable man, I say. And heaven knows I have the interest of this firm at heart. But this is going too far. If we're going to smash we'll go decently, and with our name untarnished. Pajamas are bad enough. But when it comes to the firm of T. A. Buck being represented by--by--living model hussies stalking about in satin tights like chorus girls, why--"

In Emma McChesney's alert, electric mind there leapt about a dozen plans for winning this man over. For win him she would, in the end. It was merely a question of method. She chose the simplest. There was a set look about her jaw. Her eyes flashed. Two spots of carmine glowed in her cheeks.

"I expected just this," she said. "And I prepared for it." She crossed swiftly to her desk, opened a drawer, and took out a flat package. "I expected opposition. That's why I had these samples made up to show you. I designed them myself, and tore up fifty patterns before I struck one that suited me. Here are the pajamas."

She lifted out a dainty, sh.e.l.l-pink garment, and shook it out before the half-interested, half-unwilling eyes of T. A. Buck.

"This is the jacket. b.u.t.tons on the left; see? Instead of the right, as it would in a man's garment. Semi-sailor collar, with knotted soft silk scarf. Oh, it's just a little kink, but they'll love it. They're actually becoming. I've tried 'em. Notice the frogs and cord. Pretty neat, yes? Slight flare at the hips. Makes 'em set and hang right.

Perfectly straight, like a man's coat."

T. A. Buck eyed the garments with a grudging admiration.

"Oh, that part of it don't sound so unreasonable, although I don't believe there is much of a demand for that kind of thing. But the other---the--the knickerbocker things--that's not even practical. It will make an ugly garment, and the women who would fall for a fad like that wouldn't be of the sort to wear an ugly piece of lingerie. It isn't to be thought of seriously--"

Emma McChesney stepped to the door of the tiny wash-room off her office and threw it open.

"Miss La Noyes! We're ready for you."

And there emerged from the inner room a trim, lithe, almost boyishly slim figure attired in a bewitchingly skittish-looking garment consisting of knickerbockers and snug bra.s.siere of king's blue satin messaline. Dainty black silk stockings and tiny buckled slippers set off the whole effect.

"Miss La Noyes," said Emma McChesney, almost solemnly, "this is Mr. T.

A. Buck, president of the firm. Miss La Noyes, of the 'Gay Social Whirl' company."

Miss La Noyes bowed slightly and rested one white hand at her side in an att.i.tude of nonchalant ease.

"Pleased, I'm shaw!" she said, in a clear, high voice.

And, "Charmed," replied T. A. Buck, his years and breeding standing him in good stead now.

Emma McChesney laid a kindly hand on the girl's shoulder. "Turn slowly, please. Observe the absence of unnecessary fulness about the hips, or at the knees. No wrinkles to show there. No man will ever appreciate the fine points of this little garment, but the women!--To the left, Miss La Noyes. You'll see it fastens snug and trim with a tiny clasp just below the knees. This garment has the added attraction of being fastened to the upper garment, a tight satin bra.s.siere. The single, unattached garment is just as satisfactory, however. Women are wearing plush this year. Not only for the street, but for evening dresses. I rather think they'll fancy a snappy little pair of yellow satin knickers under a gown of the new orange plush. Or a taupe pair, under a gray street suit. Or a natty little pair of black satin, finished and piped in white satin, to be worn with a black and white shopping costume. Why, I haven't worn a petticoat since I--"

"Do you mean to tell me," burst from the long-pent T. A. Buck, "that you wear 'em too?"

"Crazy about 'em. Miss La Noyes, will you just slip on your street skirt, please?"

She waited in silence until the demure Miss La Noyes reappeared. A narrow, straight-hanging, wrinkleless cloth skirt covered the much discussed under-garment. "Turn slowly, please. Thanks. You see, Mr.

Buck? Not a wrinkle. No bunchiness. No lumps. No crawling up about the knees. Nothing but ease, and comfort, and trim good looks."

T. A. Buck pa.s.sed his hand over his head in a dazed, helpless gesture.

There was something pathetic in his utter bewilderment and helplessness in contrast with Emma McChesney's breezy self-confidence, and the show-girl's cool poise and unconcern.

"Wait a minute," he murmured, almost pleadingly. "Let me ask a couple of questions, will you?"

"Questions? A hundred. That proves you're interested."

"Well, then, let me ask this young lady the first one. Miss--er--La Noyes, do you honestly and truly like this garment? Would you buy one if you saw it in a shop window?"

Miss La Noyes' answer came trippingly and without hesitation. She did not even have to feel of her back hair first.

"Say, I'd go without my lunch for a week to get it. Mrs. McChesney says I can have this pair. I can't wait till our prima donna sees 'em.

She'll hate me till she's got a dozen like 'em."

"Next!" urged Mrs. McChesney, pleasantly.

But T. A. Buck shook his head. "That's all. Only--"

Emma McChesney patted Miss La Noyes lightly on the shoulder, and smiled dazzlingly upon her. "Run along, little girl. You've done beautifully. And many thanks."

Miss La Noyes, appearing in another moment dressed for the street, stopped at the door to bestow a frankly admiring smile upon the abstracted president of the company, and a grateful one upon its pink- cheeked secretary.

"Hope you'll come and see our show some evening. You won't know me at first, because I wear a blond wig in the first scene. Third from the left, front row." And to Mrs. McChesney: "I cer'nly did hate to get up so early this morning, but after you're up it ain't so fierce. And it cer'nly was easy money. Thanks."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'No man will ever appreciate the fine points of this little garment, but the women--!'"]