nine A.M.
When you come to think of it , is n't it true that Fifth Avenue , any bright winter afternoon between four and six , is only Main Street on a busy day multiplied by one thousand ? '' Emma McChesney was not the sort of woman to rail at a fate that had placed her in the harness instead of in the carriage . But during all the long years of up-hill pull , from the time she started with a humble salary in the office of the T. A. Buck Featherloom Petticoat Company , through the years spent on the road , up to the very time when the crown of success came to her in the form of the secretaryship of the prosperous firm of T. A. Buck , there was a minor but fixed ambition in her heart . That same ambition is to be found deep down in the heart of every woman whose morning costume is a tailor suit , whose newspaper must be read in hurried snatches on the way downtown in crowded train or car , and to whom nine A.M. spells `` Business . '' `` In fifteen years , '' Emma McChesney used to say , `` I 've never known what it is to loll in leisure . I 've never had a chance to luxuriate . Sunday ?