T. A. Junior searched her face with his glowing eyes.

"Does my father know that you have a young man son? Queer you never
mentioned it.

"Queer? Maybe. Also, I don't remember ever having mentioned what
church my folks belonged to, or where I was born, or whether I like my
steak rare or medium, or what my maiden name was, or the size of my
shoes, or whether I take my coffee with or without. That's because I
don't believe in dragging private and family affairs into the business
relation. I think I ought to tell you that on the way in I met Ed
Meyers, of the Strauss Sans-silk Skirt Company, coming out. So
anything you say won't surprise me."

"You wouldn't be surprised," asked T. A. Junior smoothly, "if I were
to say that I'm considering giving a man your territory?" Emma
McChesney's eyes--those eyes that had seen so much of the world and
its ways, and that still could return your gaze so clearly and
honestly--widened until they looked so much like those of a hurt
child, or a dumb animal that has received a death wound, that young T.
A. dropped his gaze in confusion.

Emma McChesney stood up. Her breath came a little quickly. But when
she spoke, her voice was low and almost steady.

"If you expect me to beg you for my job, you're mistaken. T. A. Buck's
Featherloom Petticoats have been my existence for almost ten years.
I've sold Featherlooms six days in the week, and seven when I had a
Sunday customer. They've not only been my business and my means of
earning a livelihood, they've been my religion, my diversion, my life,