But understand that I'm the only
living person who has the right to villify my son, Jock
McChesney."
The telephone buzzed a punctuation to this period.
"Baumgartner?" inquired Buck humbly.
She listened a moment, then, over her shoulder,
"Baumgartner,"--grimly, her hand covering the mouthpiece--"and
if he thinks that he can work off a lot of last year's silk
swatches on--Hello! Yes, Mrs. McChesney talking. Look here, Mr.
Baumgartner--"
And for the time being Emma McChesney, mother, was relegated to
the background, while Emma McChesney, secretary of the T.A. Buck
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.
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