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“Never!” shouted T. A. Buck, white and shaking. “Never! This firm has always had a name for dignity, solidness, conservatism–“

“Then it’s just about time it lost that reputation. It’s all very well to hang on to your dignity when you’re on solid ground, but when you feel things slipping from under you the thing to do is to grab on to anything that’ll keep you on your feet for a while at least. I tell you the women will go wild over this knickerbocker idea. They’ve been waiting for it.”

“It’s a wild-cat scheme,” disputed Buck hotly. “It’s a drowning man’s straw, and just about as helpful. I’m a reasonable man–“

“All unreasonable men say that,” smiled Emma McChesney.

“–I’m a reasonable man, I say. And heaven knows I have the interest of this firm at heart. But this is going too far. If we’re going to smash we’ll go decently, and with our name untarnished. Pajamas are bad enough. But when it comes to the firm of T. A. Buck being represented by–by–living model hussies stalking about in satin tights like chorus girls, why–“

In Emma McChesney’s alert, electric mind there leapt about a dozen plans for winning this man over. For win him she would, in the end. It was merely a question of method. She chose the simplest. There was a set look about her jaw. Her eyes flashed. Two spots of carmine glowed in her cheeks.

“I expected just this,” she said. “And I prepared for it.” She crossed swiftly to her desk, opened a drawer, and took out a flat package. “I expected opposition. That’s why I had these samples made up to show you. I designed them myself, and tore up fifty patterns before I struck one that suited me. Here are the pajamas.”

She lifted out a dainty, shell-pink garment, and shook it out before the half-interested, half-unwilling eyes of T. A. Buck.

“This is the jacket. Buttons on the left; see? Instead of the right, as it would in a man’s garment. Semi-sailor collar, with knotted soft silk scarf. Oh, it’s just a little kink, but they’ll love it. They’re actually becoming. I’ve tried ’em. Notice the frogs and cord. Pretty neat, yes? Slight flare at the hips. Makes ’em set and hang right. Perfectly straight, like a man’s coat.”

T. A. Buck eyed the garments with a grudging admiration.

“Oh, that part of it don’t sound so unreasonable, although I don’t believe there is much of a demand for that kind of thing. But the other—the–the knickerbocker things–that’s not even practical. It will make an ugly garment, and the women who would fall for a fad like that wouldn’t be of the sort to wear an ugly piece of lingerie. It isn’t to be thought of seriously–“

Emma McChesney stepped to the door of the tiny wash-room off her office and threw it open.

“Miss La Noyes! We’re ready for you.”

And there emerged from the inner room a trim, lithe, almost boyishly slim figure attired in a bewitchingly skittish-looking garment consisting of knickerbockers and snug brassiere of king’s blue satin messaline. Dainty black silk stockings and tiny buckled slippers set off the whole effect.

“Miss La Noyes,” said Emma McChesney, almost solemnly, “this is Mr. T. A. Buck, president of the firm. Miss La Noyes, of the ‘Gay Social Whirl’ company.”

Miss La Noyes bowed slightly and rested one white hand at her side in an attitude of nonchalant ease.

“Pleased, I’m shaw!” she said, in a clear, high voice.

And, “Charmed,” replied T. A. Buck, his years and breeding standing him in good stead now.

Emma McChesney laid a kindly hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Turn slowly, please. Observe the absence of unnecessary fulness about the hips, or at the knees. No wrinkles to show there. No man will ever appreciate the fine points of this little garment, but the women!–To the left, Miss La Noyes. You’ll see it fastens snug and trim with a tiny clasp just below the knees. This garment has the added attraction of being fastened to the upper garment, a tight satin brassiere. The single, unattached garment is just as satisfactory, however. Women are wearing plush this year. Not only for the street, but for evening dresses. I rather think they’ll fancy a snappy little pair of yellow satin knickers under a gown of the new orange plush. Or a taupe pair, under a gray street suit. Or a natty little pair of black satin, finished and piped in white satin, to be worn with a black and white shopping costume. Why, I haven’t worn a petticoat since I–“