V

THE SELF-STARTER


There is nothing in the sound of the shrill little bell to warn us
of the import of its message. More's the pity. It may be that bore
whose telephone conversation begins: "Well, what do you know
to-day?" It may be your lawyer to say you've inherited a million.
Hence the arrogance of the instrument. It knows its voice will
never wilfully go unanswered so long as the element of chance lies
concealed within it.

Mrs. Emma McChesney heard the call of her telephone across the
hall. Seated in the office of her business partner, T.A. Buck, she
was fathoms deep in discussion of the T.A. Buck Featherloom
Petticoat Company's new spring line. The buzzer's insistent
voice brought her to her feet, even while she frowned at the
interruption.

"That'll be Baumgartner 'phoning about those silk swatches. Back
in a minute," said Emma McChesney and hurried across the hall just
in time to break the second call.

The perfunctory "Hello! Yes" was followed by a swift change of
countenance, a surprised little cry, then,--in quite another
tone--"Oh, it's you, Jock! I wasn't expecting ... No, not too
busy to talk to you, you young chump! Go on." A moment of silence,
while Mrs. McChesney's face smiled and glowed like a girl's as she
listened to the voice of her son. Then suddenly glow and smile