“I often get boxes of candy,” said Celeste, unable to repress this bit of vanity. “My customers give them to me.”
“My,” said Jenny, “that must be fine. Is it grand to be a manicure?”
“I like it,” said Celeste, “because it takes me among nice people. They’re mostly good to me.”
“My ladies are nice to me, too,” observed Anna. “I only sew in nice houses. But I don’t see the ladies much. It’s different with you, Miss Arleson.”
“Well, I don’t see nice ladies,” broke in Jenny. “My, how those queens of society can snap at you! Seems ’if they blame me for everything: the stock, the price, the slow cash boys,—whatever bothers ’em, it’s all my fault.”
“That is unkind,” said Clementine. “But shopping does make some people cross.”
“Indeed it does!” returned Jenny. “But I’m going to forget it just for to-day. When I sit here and see these things, all so beautiful and sparkly and bright, I pretend there isn’t any shop or shopping in all the world.”
Jenny’s smile was almost roguish, and lighted up her pale face till she looked almost pretty.
Then they had coffee, and snapping crackers with caps inside, and they put on the caps and laughed at each other’s grotesque appearance.
Mrs. Greene’s cap was a tri-corne, with a gay cockade, which gave her a militant air, quite in keeping with her strong face. Patty had a ruffled night-cap, which made her look grotesque, and Anna Gorman had a frilled sunbonnet.