Now lift your hat and come away, while you receive Lou’s cheery “See you again,” and the sardonic, sweet smile of Nancy that seems, somehow, to miss you and go fluttering like a white moth up over the housetops to the stars. It is a look that should wither and abash man but he has been known to smirk at it and offer flowers–with a string tied to them. The same look can be seen in the eyes of Russian peasants and those of us left will see it some day on Gabriel’s face when he comes to blow us up. When she laughs her loudest the look is still there. It is a look of silent but contemptuous revolt against cheated womanhood of sad prophecy of the vengeance to come. No furs protect her against the bitter spring air, but she wears her short broadcloth jacket as jauntily as though it were Persian lamb! On her face and in her eyes, remorseless type-seeker, is the typical shop-girl expression. Her skirt is shoddy, but has the correct flare. She has the high-ratted pompadour, and the exaggerated straight-front. There is no type but a perverse generation is always seeking a type so this is what the type should be. Nancy you would call a shop-girl–because you have the habit. Her cheeks are pink, and her light blue eyes bright. She is clothed in a badly-fitting purple dress, and her hat plume is four inches too long but her ermine muff and scarf cost $25, and its fellow beasts will be ticketed in the windows at $7.98 before the season is over. Lou is a piece-work ironer in a hand laundry. Yes, cautiously for they are as quick to resent a stare as a lady in a box at the horse show is. While you are shaking hands please take notice–cautiously–of their attire. Meddlesome Reader: My Lady friends, Miss Nancy and Miss Lou. It is at the end of six months that I would beg you to step forward and be introduced to them. Both found positions and became wage-earners. The little cherub that sits up aloft guided them to a cheap and respectable boarding-house. Both were pretty, active, country girls who had no ambition to go on the stage. They came to the big city to find work because there was not enough to eat at their homes to go around. We do not refer to the girls who live on Fifth Avenue as “marriage-girls.” But why turn their occupation into an adjective? Let us be fair. Of course there are two sides to the question. “THE GUILTY PARTY”–AN EAST SIDE TRAGEDY ACCORDING TO THEIR LIGHTS
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