"I'm like you, Loo. I got to thinking over what you told me the other day, and you're right: there ain't no girl would stand for it. Girls gotta have life."
"Of course they do! And you're going to have some to-night--that's what I got up my sleeve. Mr. Polly, in the laces, is comin' to take me to the Shippin' Clerks' dance up at the One Hundred and Fifteenth Street Hall--and you're coming right along with us."
Lilly lowered her eyes like a debutante.
"Oh, Loo, I--I can't go to no dances. I--Charley--I didn't mean--"
"I'd like to know what harm there is goin' to a dance with me and my gentleman friend? Didn't Aggie go with us all the time Bill was doin' night-work? Before she got her divorce there wasn't a week she wasn't somewhere with us. Besides, Polly is a perfect gentleman."
"But I ain't got nothin' to wear, Loo."
"Didn't you bring what I told you?"
"Yes; but--"
"Well, then, you're goin'. If Charley Harkins don't like it he should have taken you to dances hisself."
"I ain't been to a dance since the Ladies' Mask me and Charley went to when he was still playing matinees. I've almost forgot how."
Her eyes were like stars.
"Swell dancers like you used to be don't forget so easy."
"My dress is old, but it is low-neck."
"It's all right; and you can wear my forget-me-not wreath in your hair--it'll just match your dress."
They took the frock from the wicker bag and held it up.
"That's just fine, Lil; and you can carry my old fan--I got a new one from a gentleman friend for Christmas."
"Loo!"
Lulu piled her hair into an impressive coiffure.
"Oh, Loo, you look just like that picture that's on cigar-boxes!"
"You got the littlest waist I ever seen," reciprocated Lulu, regarding Lilly's sylphid figure with admiring eyes.
"You ought to have seen me the first year I was working, Loo. I ain't got such a little waist any more, but I did have some figure then."
They dressed in relays, taking turns about before the splotched mirror.
"Here, Lil, let me pin up them sleeves a little. Mame says all the swell waists up in the ready-to-wears have short sleeves."
"I've had my eye on a swell silver bracelet in Shank's window, Loo, for a long time; they are so pretty with elbow-sleeves."
They pecked at each other like preening birds. At seven Lulu's suitor arrived. They took final dabs at themselves.
"He ain't such a nifty looker, Lil, but he sure knows how to treat a girl swell. He ain't none of your piker kind that runs past a drug store like the soda-fountain was after him. Why, I've known him to treat to as many as three sodas in an evenin'! And say, kid, he is some classy dresser--latest jewelry and black-and-white initials worked on his shirt-sleeves. I met him at a mask, and he give me his card."
"Does he know you work?"
"Yes; but he said he'd rather have a girl tell him she's workin' like I did than to have her stuff him."
"That's what I used to say; they find out, anyway."
"Sure they do; the only time I told a guy I didn't work was that time with you."
"That time you told Mr. Evans you was goin' to school?"
"Yes; and he up and said: 'Yes; you go to school! You wrestle with pots, you do, sis.'"
They laughed reminiscently.
"We sure used to have swell times together, Lulu."
"Swell times--well, I guess yes! I never did have the same good times with no chum of the department since you left."
They descended to meet Mr. Polly in the lower hall. That gentleman rose from the hat-tree. Four fingers of a tan glove protruded with studied intent from the breast-pocket of his coat; his trousers and sleeves were creased as definitely as paper. Mr. Polly's features were strictly utilitarian--it was his boast that by a peculiar muscular contraction he could waggle his ears with fidelity to asinine effect.
His mouth was of such proportions that the slightest smile revealed his teeth back to the molars. He smiled as he rose from the hat-tree.
"Howdy-do, Mr. Polly? Is it warm enough for you? I want to make you acquainted with my friend, Lilly Harkins."
"Pleased to meet you," said Mr. Polly.
"I didn't think you'd mind my bringin' a lady friend along to-night. I thought maybe you could find her a friend up at the hall, Mr. Polly."
He bowed with alacrity.
"Always ready to do the ladies a favor," he said, extending both arms akimbo and stepping between them.
Lilly hung back with becoming reticence.
"I'm afraid I'm butting in--two's company an' three's a crowd."
They hastened to reassure her.
"You just make yourself right at home. I'm always ready to do the ladies a favor, Miss Harkins."
A startled expression flashed across Lilly's face. Her friend sprang into the breach like a life-saver off a pier.
"_Miss_ Harkins ain't the kind of a girl to sponge on nobody. Mr. Polly knows if she's my friend she's all right."
"That's the idea," agreed Mr. Polly. "I like to see girls good friends." The trio swung down the street.
"That's what I always say. Why, before Lil was mar--Why, me and Lil never are stingy with our gentlemen friends. I was always the first one to introduce you--wasn't I, Lil?"
"Yes; and me the same way," amended Lilly. "I think it's the right way to be."
"I got a friend comin' up to the dance to-night, just about your style of a fellow, Miss Harkins. One nice chap--he's been in the stock-room at Tracy's for years; some little sport, too."
"Ain't that grand!" beamed Lulu. "Two couple of us!"
Lilly hummed a little air as they walked along, both girls receiving the slightest of Mr. Polly's sallies with effusion.
"Oh, dear; it's just like going to a show to be with you, Mr. Polly," gasped Lulu, after the gentleman had waggled his ears beneath his hat until it rose from his head with magician's skill. "How can you be so comical! You ought to be on the stage."
"That ain't nothin'. You ought to see me keep all the girls in the laces laughin'! I believe in laughin', not cryin'. By the way," he said, elated with success, "guess this riddle: Why is a doughnut like a life-preserver?"
Both puckered their brows and sought in vain for a similarity between those widely diversified objects. After breathless volunteers the girls owned themselves outwitted; then Mr. Polly relieved the situation.
"A doughnut is like a life-preserver," he explained, "because they're both sinkers."
The two gasped with laughter, Lulu placing a helpful hand on her left hip.
"Oh, Mr. Polly," she panted, "you're simply killin'!"
"Sim-ply kill-in'!" echoed Lilly.
They turned into the dance-hall. Lilly's nostrils widened; the pink flew into her cheeks.
"Oh, say!" she cried; "I'd rather dance than eat."
Mr. Polly excused himself and hastened away to find his friend. He returned with a dark young man, whose sartorial perfection left nothing to be desired. He had been dancing, and wiped about the edge of his tall collar with a purple-bordered silk handkerchief.
"Ladies," announced Mr. Polly, "I want to introduce you to the swellest dancer on the floor to-night--you may think I'm kiddin', but I'm not. Miss Tracy and Miss Harkins, this is my friend, Mr. George Sippy."
Mr. Sippy pirouetted on one tan oxford and cast his eyes upward. "I'm all fussed," he said; "but pleased to meet you, ladies."
The girls laughed again. Then they strolled toward the dance-hall, where the gentleman bought tickets. Dancing at the One Hundred and Fifteenth Street Hall was five cents the selection.
The music struck up. Lulu crossed both hands upon her chest, Mr. Polly clasped her round the waist, and they moved off with that sinew tension peculiar to dance-halls. Mr. Sippy turned to Lilly.
"Will you go round, Miss Harkins?"
They melted into the embrace of the dance and moved off. When Mr. Sippy danced every faculty was pressed into service--his head was thrown back and his feet glided like well-trained automatons.
"Wasn't that just grand!" breathed Lilly, when the music ceased. She was softly radiant.
"Swell!" agreed Mr. Sippy, applauding for an encore. "Swell!" He regarded her with new interest. "You're some dancer, kid," he said.
"Oh, Mr. Sippy, who could help dancin' good with you?"
They glided away again. After the waltz they sought the side-lines, where soft drinks were served. A waiter dabbed at the table-top; Lilly fanned herself and ordered sarsaparilla.
"You don't look hot--you look cool," said Mr. Sippy, admiringly.
She took a dainty draught through her straw.
"I'm just happy--that's all," she replied.
The misery, the monotony, the wail of the mother, her own desperation--were away back in the experience of another self. Life had turned on its axis and swung her out of darkness into light. Girls in lacy waists and with swagger hips laughed into her eyes; men looked at her with frank admiration. George Sippy leaned toward her and looked intimately into her face.
"Say," he said, "Polly must have known I like blondes."
"Oh, and I'm always wishin' to be a brunette!"
"You're my style, all right."
"I'll bet you say that to every girl."
"Nix I do. You can ask Polly if I ain't hard to suit. I know just what style of girl I like."
"There's a lot in knowin' just what you like," she said, archly.
"That's some yellow hair you got," he observed, irrelevantly. "My sister used to have hair like that."