Personality Plus: Some Experiences of Emma McChesney and Her Son, Jock

Now Mrs. Emma McChesney, successful, capable business woman that she was, could afford to regard her young son's attitude with a quiet and deep amusement. In twelve

in condiments known to the twentieth century as pep and ginger, she would listen, eyebrows raised, lower lip caught between her teeth-a trick which gives a distorted expression to the features, calculated to hide any lurking t

rsed with a life of ease. These massage-at-ten-fitting-at-ele

e glow of growing resentment began to burn in its place. Now and then there crept into her eyes a little look of doubt and bewilderment. You s

nnounced that she intended to rise half an hour earlier each morning in order tha

h, Mother?" Jock had asked wit

heightened. Her blu

grandma stuff! To hear you talk one would think I was r

t perhaps overexertion in a woman of y

merely want to warn you that if you persist in this pose of tender solicitude for your doddering old mother, I'

! Of course you do

en driven by their children to marrying

ng schemes whereby the T.A. Buck Featherloom Petticoat Company might grind every other skirt concern to dust. He gave only a startled look when his mother mischievously suggested raspberr

He had called around expressly to take his mother out to luncheon-always a festive occasion when taken together. But Mrs. McChesney, seated at her desk, was bent absorbedly ov

with a thwack. "SIXTY-NINE!" she repeated in capital letters. She turned around to face

ver it is you're counting up, and come on out to lun

he air-"with this outrage on my mind

he desk. "What is it?" He glanced idly

ollars, that's what! Representing two days' expenses in the six weeks'

job," began Jock hotly, "I told

t of a job and we needed a man who knew the Middle-Western trade, and then because-well, poor fellow, he begged so and promised to keep st

zzer a very alert, very smiling, and very tidy office girl.

yers I want

race horse trembling to be off,-"putting on

ch h

ortably; "if you're going to cal

lets torn off, and his sword broken, and likely as not he'd stoop down, pick up a splinter of steel to use as a toothpick, and Castlewalk down the aisle

e humming ceased with a last high note as the door opened and there entered Fat Ed Meyers, rosy, cherubi

ck. "How's the infant prodigy!" The fact that Jock's frown deepened to a scowl ruffled him not at all. "And what," went

xplain to me, in what they call a few well-chosen words, just how you, or any other living creature, coul

lay the stress on the word missionary. I went forth through the Middle West to spread the light among the benighted skirt trade. Th

-assured, impudent. A little flus

t you haven't learned the art of spending money wisely. It isn't always the man with the largest expense sheet that gets the most business. And it isn't the man who leaves the greatest number of circles

you know there's always one live one in every firm, just

y, look here, Ed Meyers, I made Iowa for ten years when I was on the road. You know that. And you know, and I kno

the love of every skirt buyer

se! You don't need to do that these days. Those are

Jock. Emma heard it, glanced at h

lace to give you this job for old ti

nd head on one side fatuously. "For old times' sake," he

atherlooms, and you were out for the Sans-Silk Skirt Company, both covering the same territory, and both running a year-around race to see whic

ear Mrs. M

y. "Mr. Buck will see you next week." Then, turning to her son as the door closed

o you persist in using the methods of Methuselah! People don't sell good

McChesney slowly, "w

me as a recess. She played mental tag and hop-scotch, so that, returning to her office refreshed in mind

ess far removed from her usual alert interest, and followed Jock's attempts at con

ock had to say it tw

, no-I th

tingly. "The French pastry's particularly nice to-day, madam. If you'

our gowns so floppy this year that it makes no difference whether one's fat or not." She

p. He leaned across the table toward his mother, eyes glow

oi

he suggested it to you-advertised it, really. And then you wanted a picture of them. You wanted to know what they looked like before buying. T

ear when the mind is working furiously. If the insinuating waiter, presenting the laden tray for her inspection, was s

t ornate. She ate it, down to the last crumb, in a silence tha

een too busy watching my own feet. T.A. will be back next week. Could

ant. "Watch 'em! Hupp's been cra

in that copy. I know Featherlooms b

anufacturer always thinks he can write magic stuff because he knows his own pr

said Emma McC

days of hurried preparation a little silent tragedy had come about. For the first time in her brave, sunny life Emma McChesney had lost faith in herself. And with such

throw in conversational asides. The old and experienced stenographers, had learned to look out for that, and to eliminate from their typewritten letters certain irrele

stenographer in the outer office, a

Hupp had said into the dictagraph's mouthpiece. "In

over his shoulder at his colleague, H

hat concern, and they've spoiled her. Successful, and used to being kowtowed t

kull in the outer office dutifully took down what the instrument had to say, word for word, marked it, "Di

and then again. The two readings were punctuated with a little gasp, such

conference might make business history. Hopper, at one end of the room, studied his shoe heel intently. He was unbelievably boyish looking to command the fabulous salary reported to be his. Advertising men, mentioning his name, pulled a figurative forelock as they did so. Near Mrs. McChesney sat Sam Hupp, he of the lightning brain and the sure-fire copy. Emma McChesney, strangely silent, kept her eyes intent on the faces of

bit, from hem to waist-band. Nothing had been left untouched. Every angle had come under the keen vision of th

g one of his long silences. "There's nothing new in petticoa

freak drawings they're crazy about now-slinky figure, you know, hollow-chested, one foot

ead slowly. "What's your opin

mma McChesney listlessly. T.A. Buck

ut you,

Mrs. McChesney's idea was to make a point of the fact that these petticoats were not freak petticoats, but skirts

hesney s

orward a little and smile

cChesney? We'd all like to

Then she looked up, and addressed what sh

orget that those types form only a thin upper crust, and that down beneath there are millions and millions of regular, everyday women doing regular everyday things in regular everyday clothes. Women who wash on Monday, and iron on Tuesday, and bake one-egg cakes, and who have to hurry home to get supper when they go down-town in the

r, from his corn

McChesney admiringly. "Sounds

sat up wi

fever. The time is past when you can attract people to your goods with the promise of durability and wear. They don't expect goods to wear. They'd resent it if they did. They get tired of an article befo

In silence she sat throughout the rest of the conference. In silence she descende

Then, as Mrs. McChesney shrugged noncommittal

d to face him, breat

hallway, pressed against the door with my face to the crack. They prodded him, and poked him, and worked his little legs and arms, and every time he cried I prayed, and wept, and clawed the door with my fingers, and called them beasts and torturers and begged them to let me in, though I wasn

trembling, eyes su

ay I felt in ther

on't, old girl! It's going to work out splendidl

hey don't know Featherloom

You know he said we were criticising their copy the way a plumber would criticise the Parthenon-so

hesney solemnly, "T.A

You! I

red us, that's what they did. I'll tell you, T.A., when the time comes for me to give Jock up to some little pink-faced girl I'll do

e, Emma;

to go wrong with its engines. It began to wobble and showed a decided list to port. Jock, who at the beginning was so puffed with pride that his gold fountain pen thr

Think it's going to take hold?" he would ask. "Our men say the dealers have laid in,

smile, and shrug no

"taking hold," T.A. Buck, after asking the same questi

you know, this campaign is costing us money-real money, and large chunks of it. It's

got something to tell you. The fault of this campaign has been the copy. It was perfectly good advertising, but it left the public cold. When they read those ads they might have been impressed with the charm of the garment, but it didn't fill their breasts with

pless hands. "What are

already

e wh

it to the public. It's the same recipe that I used to use in selling Featherlooms on the road. It used to go by word of mouth. I don't see why it shouldn't go on paper. It isn't classic advertising. It isn't scientific. It i

and take hold there came back to Emma McChesney's eye the old sparkle, to her step the old buoyancy, to her voice the old delightful ring. And now, w

ip that wo

ere going to be millionaires in ou

ey opened he

ocked, "Old!