Featherloom Petticoat Company, held the stage.

Having said that she would be home at five-thirty. Mrs. McChesney
was home at five-thirty, being that kind of a person. Jock came
in at six, breathless, bright-eyed, eager, and late, being that
kind of a person.

He found his mother on the floor before the chiffonier in his
bedroom, surrounded by piles of pajamas, socks, shirts and
collars.

[Illustration: "He found his mother on the floor ... surrounded
by piles of pajamas, socks, shirts and collars"]

He swooped down upon her from the doorway. "What do you think of
your blue-eyed boy! Poor, eh?"

Emma McChesney looked up absently. "Jock, these medium-weights of
yours didn't wear at all, and you paid five dollars for them."

"Medium-weights! What in--"

"You've enough silk socks to last you the rest of your natural
life. Handkerchiefs, too. But you'll need pajamas."

Jock stooped, gathered up an armful of miscellaneous undergarments
and tossed them into an open drawer. Then he shut the drawer with
a bang, reached over, grasped his mother firmly under the arms and
brought her to her feet with a swing.