strong woman and all
that, but still I can be affected more than you'd think.'

"Poor Hetty stutters and turns red and her chin begins to quiver, so I
gentled her down and tried to explain, though seeing quick that I must
tell her everything but the truth. I reckon nothing in this world can
look funnier than a woman wearing them things that had never ought to
for one reason or another. There was more reasons than that in Hetty's
case. Dignity was the first safe bet I could think of with her, so I
tried that.

"'I know all you would say,' says the poor thing in answer, 'but isn't
it true that men rather like one to be--oh, well, you know--just the
least bit daring?'

"'Truest thing in the world,' I says, 'but bless your heart, did you
suspicion riding breeches was daring on a woman? Not so. A girl wearing
'em can't be any more daring after the first quick shock is over
than--well, you read the magazines, don't you? You've seen those
pictures of family life in darkest Africa that the explorers and monkey
hunters bring home, where the wives, mothers, and sweethearts, God bless
'em! wear only what the scorching climate demands. Didn't it strike you
that one of them women without anything on would have a hard time if she
tried to be daring--or did it? No woman can be daring without the proper
clothes for it,' I says firmly, 'and as for you, I tell you plain, get
into the most daring and immodest thing that was ever invented for
woman--which is the well-known skirt.'

"'Oh, Ma Pettengill,' cries the poor thing, 'I never meant anything
horrid and primitive when I said daring. As a matter of fact, I think
these are quite modest to the intelligent eye.'

"'Just what I'm trying to tell you,' I says. 'Exactly that; they're
modest to any eye whatever. But here you are embarked on a difficult
enterprise, with a band of flinty-hearted cutthroats trying to beat you
to it, and, my dear child, you have a staunch nature and a heart of
gold, but you simply can't afford to be modest.'

"'I don't understand,' says she, looking at herself in the glass again.

"'Trust me, anyway,' I implores. 'Let others wear their Non Plush
Ultras which are No. 9872'--she tries to correct my pronunciation, but I
wouldn't stop for that. 'Never mind how it's pronounced,' I says,
'because I know well the meaning of it in a foreign language. It means
the limit, and it's a very desirable limit for many, but for you,' I
says plainly, 'it's different. Your