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Updated: June 12, 2025
I don't know just what his proposition is, but I'll bet he'll give you half interest in the livest, come-upest little skirt factory in the country, just for a few thousands capital, maybe, and your business head at the executive end. Now just let that sink in before you speak." "And why," inquired Emma McChesney, "don't you grab this matchless business opportunity yourself?"
And as she stared, uncertain whether to stay or fly, the color surged into her cheeks and mounted to her fair forehead. "Tom!" she faltered. "I've come back, Polly Ann," said he. But his voice was not so clear as a while ago. Then Polly Ann surprised me. "What made you come back?" said she, as though she didn't care a minkskin. Whereat Mr. McChesney shifted his feet.
Don't chuck them under the chin, but smile on 'em. And you've got a lovely smile, T. A." Buck looked up from the little leather book. And, as he gazed at Emma McChesney, the smile appeared and justified its praise. "I'll have this to comfort me, anyway, Emma.
I've walked two hundred miles, and fed seven times, and my sculp's as near hangin' on a Red Stick's belt as I ever want it to be." "Tom McChesney," said Polly Ann, with her hands on her hips and her sunbonnet tilted, "that's the longest speech you ever made in your life." I declare I lost my temper with Polly Ann then, nor did I blame Tom McChesney for turning on his heel and walking away.
Emma McChesney was not the sort of woman to rail at a fate that had placed her in the harness instead of in the carriage.
The gold-braided official advanced, mustachios bristling. A volley of Portuguese burst from his long-pent lips. Emma McChesney glanced behind her. Her interpreter threw up helpless hands, replying with a still more terrifying burst of vowels. Bewildered, a little frightened, Mrs. McChesney stood helplessly by. The official laid a none too gentle hand on her shoulder.
Care, that clawing, mouthing hag, perched on his brow, tore at his heart. He turned to face Emma McChesney. "Well," he said, bitterly, "it hasn't taken us long, has it? Father's been dead a little over a year. In that time we've just about run this great concern, the pride of his life, into the ground." Mrs.
Emma McChesney went on with her brushing. She brushed her hair with the usual number of swift even strokes, from the top of the shining head to the waist. She braided her hair into two plaits, Gretchen fashion. Millions of scanty-locked women would have given all they possessed to look as Emma McChesney looked standing there in kimono and gown. She nicked out the light.
"Let it go double," replied Emma McChesney, and shook his hand. "Guess I'll run down and get a smoke," remarked he. He ran down the stairs in a manner wonderfully airy for one so stout. Emma watched him until he disappeared around a bend in the stairs. Then she walked hastily in the direction of sixty-five.
Why, you're the finest little woman you're you'd restore the faith of a cynic who had chronic indigestion. I wish I Say, let me relieve you of a couple of those small towns that you hate to make, and give you Cleveland and Cincinnati. And let me Why say, Mrs. McChesney! Please! Don't! This isn't the time to " "I can't help it," sobbed Emma McChesney, her two hands before her face.
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