“Nun, nun,” the girls grunted, but they shook their heads so violently that there could be no doubt of their understanding.
“Goo’-by,” the teacher said at the end of the lesson, as, rising, she held out her hand.
“Goo’-by?” the five questioned in chorus. Then they struggled to their feet and made an awkward attempt at shaking hands.
While the woman was in the lavatory, the girls, glancing around, saw me. Their prolonged stare was followed by an animated discussion. What was there about my appearance to cause anyone to single me out for special comment? The quickest way to settle the question seemed to be to drag my chair across the floor and join the group.
“Hello!” I greeted the five as I planted my chair facing them.
“’Ello!” was their relieved chorus, and cordial smiles flashed over the five faces which an instant before had reflected surprise with a glint of fear.
“’Merican?” the girl nearest asked, and before I could reply the others questioned in chorus “’Merican?”
“Sure, I’m an American,” I assured them, and very gravely I shook, in turn, five surprisingly large hands.
This rite finished, the girl next me reached over and stroked my muff. It was so evident that the others wished to do the same thing that I handed the muff over. It was passed around the circle, each girl stroking it and pressing it for an instant against her cheek—a movement too distinctly feminine to need explanation. Once the muff was back in my possession their interest shifted to my shoes.
“Did they expect me to pass my shoes around for inspection?” was the query that flashed through my mind.