Pearlie came over and sat down on the floor in the midst of the
litter. The leading lady dived once more, fished about in the
bottom of the suit-case and brought a crumpled piece of paper
triumphantly to the surface.
"This is it. It only takes a yard and five-eighths. And
fits! Like Anna Held's skirts. Comes down in a V front and
back--like this. See? And no fulness. Wait a minute. I'll show
you my princess slip. I made it all by hand, too. I'll bet you
couldn't buy it under fifteen dollars, and it cost me four dollars
and eighty cents, with the lace and all."
Before an hour had passed, the leading lady had displayed all
her treasures, from the photograph of her baby that died to her new
Blanche Ring curl cluster, and was calling Pearlie by her first
name. When a bell somewhere boomed six o'clock Pearlie was being
instructed in a new exercise calculated to reduce the hips an inch
a month.
"My land!" cried Pearlie, aghast, and scrambled to her feet as
nimbly as any woman can who weighs two hundred pounds.
"Supper-time, and I've got a bunch of letters an inch thick to get
out! I'd better reduce that some before I begin on my hips. But
say, I've had a lovely time."
The leading lady clung to her. "You've saved my life. Why,
I forgot all about being hot and lonely and a couple of thousand
miles from New York.
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