So I did my own washing. I haven't learned to wear soiled
clothes yet. I laughed fit to bust while I was doing it.
But--I'll bet my mother dreamed of me that night. The way they do,
you know, when something's gone wrong."
Sophy, perched on the third rung of the sliding ladder, was
gazing at him. Her lips were parted slightly, and her cheeks were
very pink. On her face was a new, strange look, as of something
half forgotten. It was as though the spirit of
Sophy-as-she-might-have-been were inhabiting her soul for a brief
moment. At Louie's next words the look was gone.
"Can't you sew something--a lace yoke--or whatever you call
'em--in that dress?" he persisted.
"Aw, fade!" jeered Sophy. "When a girl's only got one dress
it's got to have some tong to it. Maybe this gown would cause a
wave of indignation in Oskaloosa, Iowa, but it don't even make a
ripple on State Street. It takes more than an aggravated Dutch
neck to make a fellow look at a girl these days. In a town like
this a girl's got to make a showin' some way. I'm my own stage
manager. They look at my dress first, an' grin. See? An' then
they look at my face. I'm like the girl in the story. Muh face is
muh fortune. It's earned me many a square meal; an' lemme tell
you, Pink Cheeks, eatin' square meals is one of my favorite pas-
times.
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