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Then he gulped, retreated, paced excitedly to the door and back again. On the return trip he found smiling and repentant Emma McChesney regarding him. "Now aren't you sorry you insisted on coming along? Letting yourself in for a ragging like that? I think I'm a wee bit taut in the nerves at the prospect of seeing Jock and planning things with him I " T. A. Buck paused in his pacing.
And I did succeed in giving him those things. Well, as I looked at him there to-day I saw him, not as my son, my property that was going out of my control into the hands of another woman, but as a link in the great chain that I had helped to forge a link as strong and sound and perfect as I could make it. I saw him, not as my boy, Jock McChesney, but as a unit.
Then he turned the knob and entered his partner's office. Mrs. Emma McChesney was reading a letter. More than that, she was poring over it so that, at the interruption, she glanced up in a maddeningly half-cocked manner which conveyed the impression that, while her physical eye beheld the intruder, her mental eye was still on the letter. "I knew it," said T. A. Buck morosely.
I'll be ready for you to-morrow morning in my office. Come prepared for the jolt of your young life." For the first time since the beginning of the conversation a glow of new courage and hope lighted up T. A. Buck's good-looking features. His fine eyes rested admiringly upon Emma McChesney standing there by the great show-case. She seemed to radiate energy. alertness, confidence.
As for me, my heart hammered against my ribs, and I grew sick with listening. It was at that instant that my admiration for Tom McChesney burst bounds, and that I got some real inkling of what woodcraft might be. Stepping silently between the tree trunks, his eyes bent on the leafy loam, he found a footprint here and another there, and suddenly he went into the cane with a sign to us to remain.
She might have passed for the mother of a brood of six if it were not for her eyes the shrewd, twinkling, far-sighted, reckoning eyes of the business woman. She and Emma McChesney had been friends from the day that Ethel Morrissey had bought her first cautious bill of Featherlooms. Her love for Emma McChesney had much of the maternal in it.
The boy wouldn't go if he thought it would make you unhappy." "Not go!" cried Emma McChesney sharply. "I'd like to see him dare to refuse it!" "Well then, what in " began Buck, bewildered. "Don't try to understand it, T.A. It's no use. Don't try to poke your finger into the whirligig they call 'Woman's Sphere. Its mechanism is too complicated.
And talk it over then sociably." Mrs. McChesney closed the glass door of the case with a bang. "No, thanks. My office at 9:30." T. A. Buck followed her to the door. "But why not lunch? You never will take lunch with me. Ever so much more comfortable to talk things over that way "
"Tell me, Miss LeHaye, haven't you ever thought of quitting that the stage and turning to something something " "Something decent?" Blanche LeHaye finished for her. "I used to. I've got over that. Now all I ask is to get a laugh when I kick the comedian's hat off with my toe." "But there must have been a time " insinuated Emma McChesney, gently.
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