Nothin' to it, kid. Nothin' to
it."
Louie had been twisting his fingers nervously. Now his hands
shut themselves into fists. He looked straight into Sophy's angry
eyes.
"I do know what it is," he said, quite simply. "There's been
a lot written and said about women's struggle with clothes. I
wonder why they've never said anything about the way a man has to
fight to keep up the thing they call appearances. God knows it's
pathetic enough to think of a girl like you bending over a tubful
of clothes. But when a man has to do it, it's a tragedy."
"That's so," agreed Sophy. "When a girl gets shabby, and her
clothes begin t' look tacky she can take a gore or so out of her
skirt where it's the most wore, and catch it in at the bottom, and
call it a hobble. An' when her waist gets too soiled she can cover
up the front of it with a jabot, an' if her face is pretty enough
she can carry it off that way. But when a man is seedy, he's
seedy. He can't sew no ruffles on his pants."
"I ran short last week, continued Louie. "That is, shorter
than usual. I hadn't the fifty cents to give to the woman. You
ought to see her! A little, gray-faced thing, with wisps of hair,
and no chest to speak of, and one of those mashed-looking black
hats. Nobody could have the nerve to ask her to wait for her
money.
Pages:
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62