Mcallen Daily Monitor

(Continued from a previous chapter)
When Carol Morris' mother, a small-town dressmaker, suddenly dies, Carol sets out for New York to seek a career, though John Clark, who is in love with her, tries to dissuade her. In New York, she takes a job in Morgan's department store, where she is soon promoted into the office of Mr. Jackson, Paris buyer. Meanwhile, she has met the wealthy Ranny Sterling, who asks her to marry him, but Carol's one ambition is to have a career and achieve "success."
She seems well on the way to her goal when Mr. Jackson takes her to Paris as his assistant. But at the first style showing that she attends, she is ejected when discovered making a sketch on her program.

CHAPTER XVII
Out in the street, Carol walked slowly away from the palatial dressmaking establishment. She was sick with embarrassment over what had happened. Mr. Jackson had told her that the one thing the famous dressmakers would not tolerate was that any buyer should attempt to copy models when on display. The dressmakers were in business to sell their models to the buyers, and any attempt to copy before buying was a species of cheating.
But she hadn't been copying Madame Durand's model at all. The sketch on her program would show that what she had drawn was not the French woman's design, but one among similar lines in which a number of details were strikingly different. It was her mother's design she had drawn, a design her mother had made especially for her. She certainly, therefore, had every right to it.
But would Mr. Jackson understand? Would anybody understand? Would other dressmakers bar her from their exhibits when the occurrence became known? Slowly, gloomily, she returned to the Crillon Hotel and went to the suite Mr. Jackson had engaged for their quarters. There was nothing to do but wait for him to return from the exhibit.
That wait of a little over an hour seemed ages long, and when Mr. Jackson finally returned, a single glance at his face was enough to tell Carol that he viewed the incident very seriously indeed.
She jumped to her feet. "Mr. Jackson, I want—"
He stopped her with a gesture. "Please, Miss Morris, let's be quite calm about this. Now we'll sit down and talk it over and see just how much damage you have done. Copying at any dressmaker's in Paris is a very serious offense. Madame Durand is a perfect martinet on the subject. Of
Carol knew only too well what his words meant. If she were not successful in explaining what she had done, she would not be brought to Paris again. Her career which had begun so auspiciously, would end under a cloud. Anxiously, she produced her program and began her explanation.
"Mr. Jackson, I swear to you I was not copying Madame Durand's model at all. That flame-colored gown reminded me of a dress my mother made for me when I was away at school. It was a design of her own, for you must understand that, while my mother was only a small-town dressmaker, she often made her own patterns."
Mr. Jackson nodded gravely. "I understand about your mother. After all, there is the Morris Collar to prove that. Do you mean to say that you were sketching your remembrance of your own dress rather than the one on display?"
"That's exactly what I mean, Mr. Jackson!" she cried eagerly. "Here is the sketch as I made it. Look at this neckline, and this method of setting the sleeve in. You see it's entirely different from Madame Durand's model. I'll go to her myself and explain. If necessary, I can send to Morristown and have the dress sent here to prove my statements."
Mr. Jackson took the sketch in his hands and, for a full minute, studied it with closest attention. When he looked up, his stern expression had changed and he was almost smiling. He put the sketch aside and sat back in his chair.
"Carol Morris, you are a very strange girl. As far as I'm concerned, I'm quite convinced that you were not copying this afternoon. Of course, you're going to have a hard time convincing other people. But we'll see if we can't take care of that."
Carol was filled with relief and gratitude.
"Oh, I'm so glad, Mr. Jackson, that you understand; I've worked so hard for this opportunity in Paris, and I was so afraid I'd lost out completely. When can I go to see Madame Durand and explain to her?"
"My dear girl, you would never, in a thousand years, succeed in explaining anything to Madame Durand. I want you to leave this affair in my hands, and everything will be all right. But for goodness' sake, do be careful next time!"
"Oh, I will!" Carol promised, fervently.
A half hour later, she returned to her own little hotel fairly treading on air. How different the very streets seemed now from what they had a mere hour or two before, when she was worried. If anything, Mr. Jackson was more impressed with her than ever, and her position in Morgan's store the more secure.
How true this was, the following day was to make evident. Just after lunch, a cable came, telling Mr. Jackson that his wife had been badly hurt in an automobile accident. It was feared she might not live. For a moment, the man seemed stricken, and Carol realized that, somehow, she had never thought of Mr. Jackson as having a wife or family. He had always seemed just a part of Morgan's store, a man utterly devoid of emotions.
"Is there anything I can do, Mr. Jackson?" she asked gently.
He shook his head in a dazed manner. "I don't know. I don't know what to do. I ought not to walk out of my job here, but I
(Continued On Page Five)