"
"Every possible one, yes," agreed Mrs. McChesney, sweetly. "And now
it's time to try the impossible. The possibilities haven't worked. My
land! I could write a book on the Decline and Fall of the Petticoat,
beginning with the billowy white muslin variety, and working up to the
present slinky messaline affair. When I think of those dear dead days
of the glorious--er--past, when the hired girl used to complain and
threaten to leave because every woman in the family had at least three
ruffled, embroidery-flounced white muslin petticoats on the line on
Mondays--"
The lines about T. A. Buck's mouth relaxed into a grim smile.
"Remember that feature you got them to run in the _Sunday Sphere?_ The
one headed 'Are Skirts Growing Fuller, and Where?'"
"Do I remember it!" wailed Emma McChesney. "And can I ever forget the
money we put into that fringed model we called the Carmencita! We made
it up so it could retail for a dollar ninety-five, and I could have
sworn that the women would maim each other to get to it.
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