Yes, I know it, my forearm is white and round, but I declare it makes me feel positively indecent to go with it bared nowadays. If those suffrage people would only get for women the right to bare arms, they’d do something worth while.
No, indeed, I can’t afford to get new gowns. These are too good to throw away.
Well, they may not be the latest style, but I don’t want those bolster-slip arrangements for mine.
Mrs. Van Bumpus, now—you know her, don’t you? Well, it would take two kimonos to go round her, I’m sure; and I saw her the other day in one of those clinging satin rigs. My! she looked exactly like a gypsy-wagon, the kind that has canvas stretched over its ribs.
No, it’s sleeves, sleeves, I’m after to-day—and that’s why I sent for you.
I’m going to superintend them, you understand, but I want you to help, and to do the plain sewing.
Well, to begin on this mauve crépon. I want to wear it this afternoon, and I think we can easily get it done, between us.
I’ve bought a paper pattern—I bought three—for I mean to spare no expense in getting my sleeves right.
So I bought three different makes, and think this one is best. It was a sort of bargain, too, for they sold the sleeve pattern and a pattern for little boys’ pajamas, all for ten cents. I don’t know what to do with the pajamas pattern—so that does seem a waste. I’ve no little boy, and I shouldn’t make pajamas for him if I had. I think the one-piece nighties far more sensible. If you know of any one who has a little boy, I’ll sell that pattern for half price. Still, ten cents wasn’t much to pay for this sleeve pattern. You see, it’s really three sleeve patterns. One plain, with dart; one plain, without dart; and one tucked. I’ll use them all, in different waists, but for this mauve crépon, I think, we’ll try the tucked one. It would be sweet in net or chiffon. Yes, I bought both materials, for I didn’t know which you’d think prettier; I trust a great deal to your judgment and experience, though I always rely on my own taste.
Now, here’s the tucked sleeve. Merciful powers! Look at the length of it! Oh, it’s to be tucked all the way up, you see, and that brings it the right length. Wouldn’t it be easier to cut the sleeve from net already tucked? No, that’s so—I couldn’t match the shade in tucked stuff of any sort. I tried in seven shops. Well, let’s see. These rows of perforations match these rows. No—that isn’t right. That would make the tucks wider than the spaces. Why, I never saw such millions of perforations in one piece of paper before! Look here, this isn’t a sleeve pattern at all! It’s a Pianola roll! I’m going to put through and see if it isn’t that old thing in F, or something classic. Cut out the tucked sleeve, Miss Cotton. Oh, wait, I didn’t mean that literally! My husband reproves me so often for using slang. I mean, I won’t have my arms done up in Bach’s fugues; I should feel like a hand-organ.