“Oh, I hope we have some luck this time,” Terry remarked. “But whatever shall we do with ourselves while we’re waiting?”
“That’s a problem,” Arden said thoughtfully. “Let’s get our hair washed and waved. Mine could stand it. It’s full of salt water.”
“Great!” Sim exclaimed. “Of course, we know the beauty parlor here is nothing to write home about, but it will serve.”
“It will serve us, little one,” Terry declared, and they walked three abreast down the sunny street.
The girl operators were glad to have some new customers, and city folks at that, so they asked innumerable questions. The three girls were guarded in their answers, afraid they would give away their secret.
A none too gentle girl rubbed Arden’s scalp with stubby fingers, keeping up her barrage of questions the while. What was the latest coiffure in the city? Was the long bob going out? What kind of a permanent did she have? Wearily Arden answered, wishing the girl would keep quiet.
But at last it was over and they went back to haunt the drug store again.
No, the clerk told them, no message had yet come.
The girls sat down on the steps outside. This was not an unusual thing to do. In a small village one could sit for hours by the gas station, post office, or drug store without being thought queer.
In an agony of suspense, they waited fifteen minutes—twenty minutes. They reached a point where they were sitting silently, each busy with her own worrying and wondering thoughts.