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Updated: June 14, 2025
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.
You've been under an unusual physical and mental strain for the last few weeks. Give me that letter. I'll answer it. This kind of thing" he held up the letter "has meant everything to you. If it had not, where would I be to-day? But to-night, Emma, it doesn't mean a thing. Not one thing." Slowly Emma McChesney's tense body relaxed.
I've been thinking all along that I was the original electric self-starter, when you've really had to get out and crank me every few miles." Into Emma McChesney's face there came a wonderful look. It was the sort of look with which a newly-made angel might receive her crown and harp. It was the look with which a war-hero sees the medal pinned on his breast.
"Say, kid," Meyers began, in the husky whisper of the fat man, "I'm going to put you wise to something, seeing you're new to this game. See that lady over there?" He nodded discreetly in Emma McChesney's direction. "Pretty, isn't she?" said Jock, appreciatively. "Know who she is?" "Well I she does look familiar but " "Oh, come now, quit your bluffing. If you'd ever met that dame you'd remember it.
They came at the correct hour, in their correct motor or conservative broughams, wearing their quietly correct clothes, and Emma gave them tea, and they talked on every subject from suffrage to salad dressings, and from war to weather, but never once was mention made of business. And Emma McChesney's life had been interwoven with business for more than fifteen years.
You're Emma McChesney's son, and ten years from now I intend to be able to brag about it, or I'll want to know the reason why and it'll have to be a blamed good reason." "I'd like to know what I've done!" blurted the boy. "Just because I happened to come here a few hours before you expected me, and just because you saw me talking to a girl! Why " "It isn't what you've done.
T. A. Buck took Emma McChesney's arm in a rather unnecessarily firm grip and propelled her, surprised and protesting, in the direction of the nearest vacant taxi. "But, T. A.! This is idiotic! Why take a cab to go home from the office on a a week day?" "In with you! Besides, I never have a chance to take one from the office on Sunday, do I? Does Annie always cook enough for two?"
And then you'll run out there, eh? We'll have regular bats, Mrs. Mack. Dinner and the theater and supper! Yes?" "Yes," said Emma McChesney, in muffled tones that totally lacked enthusiasm. "Chicago's really only a suburb of New York, anyway, these days, and " Emma McChesney's head came up sharply. "Look here, son.
Emma McChesney's hand seemed to snatch itself away from the woman's shoulder. "You can't treat me with your life's history. I'm going in." "Wait a minute. Don't go away sore, kid. On the square, I guess I liked the feel of your hand on my arm, like that. Say, I've done the same thing myself to a strange dog that looked up at me, pitiful.
In those miserable South American hotels, how I used to long for the orderliness and quiet of this!" She took off hat and coat. In a vase on the desk, a cluster of yellow chrysanthemums shook their shaggy heads in welcome. Emma McChesney's quick eye jumped to them, then to Buck, who had come in and was surveying the scene appreciatively. "You of course."
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