e
refreshed in mind and body, she could attack the afternoon's work
with new vigor. And never did she talk or think business.

To-day she ate her luncheon with a forced appetite, glanced about
with a listlessness far removed from her usual alert interest, and
followed Jock's attempts at conversation with a polite effort that
was more insulting than downright inattention.

"Dessert, Mother?" Jock had to say it twice before she heard.

"What? Oh, no--I think not."

The waiter hesitated, coughed discreetly, lifted his eyebrows
insinuatingly. "The French pastry's particularly nice to-day,
madam. If you'd care to try something? Eclair, madam--peach
tart--mocha tart--caramel--"

Emma McChesney smiled. "It does sound tempting." She glanced at
Jock. "And we're wearing our gowns so floppy this year that it
makes no difference whether one's fat or not." She turned to the
waiter. "I never can tell till I see them. Bring your pastry tray,
will you?"

Jock McChesney's finger and thumb came together with a snap. He
leaned across the table toward his mother, eyes glowing, lips
parted and eager. "There! you've proved my point."

"Point?"

"About advertising. No, don't stop me. Don't you see that what
applies to pastry applies to petticoats? You didn't think of
French pastry until 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. That's all there is to
advertising. Telling people about a thing, making 'em want it, and
showing 'em how it will look when they have it. Get me?"

Emma McChesney was gazing at Jock with a curious, fascinated
stare. It was a blank little look, such as we sometimes wear when
the mind is working furiously. If the insinuating waiter,
presenting the laden tray for her inspection, was startled by the
rapt expression which she turned upon the cunningly wrought wares,
he was too much a waiter to show it.

A pause. "That one," said Mrs. McChesney, pointing to the least
ornate. She ate it, down to the last crumb, in a silence that was
pregnant with portent. She put down her fork and sat back.

"Jock, you win. I--I suppose I have fallen out of step. Perhaps
I've been too busy watching my own feet. T.A. will be back next
week. Could your office have an advertising plan roughly sketched
by that time?"

"Could they!" His tone was exultant. "Watch 'em! Hupp's been crazy
to make Featherlooms famous."

"But look here