"It's a bubble, this South American idea. Oshkosh and Southport
and Altoona money has always been good enough for us. If we can
keep that trade, we ought to be thankful."

Emma McChesney pushed her hair back from her forehead with one
gesture and patted it into place with another. Those two
gestures, to one who knew her, meant loss of composure for one
instant, followed by the quick regaining of it the next.

"Let's not argue about it now. Suppose we wait until
to-morrow--when it's too late. I am thankful for the trade we've
got. But I don't want to be narrow about it. My thanking
capacity is such that I can stretch it out to cover some things
we haven't got yet. I've been reading up on South America."

"Reading!" put in Buck hotly. "What actual first-hand
information can you get about a country from books?"

"Well, then, I haven't only been reading. I've been talking to
everyone I could lay my hands on who has been down there and who
knows. Those South American women love dress--especially the
Argentines. And do you know what they've been wearing?
Petticoats made in England! You know what that means. An
English woman chooses a petticoat like she does a husband--for
life. It isn't only a garment. It's a shelter. It's built like
a tent. If once I can introduce the T. A. Buck Featherloom
petticoat and knickerbocker into sunny South America, they'll use
those English and German petticoats for linoleum floor-coverings.
Heaven knows they'll fit the floor better than the human form!"