"What are you doing that for?" cried Maud impatiently. "We're late now and——"
"I don't like the way my hair's done," cried Susan.
"Why, it was all right—real swell—good as a hairdresser could have done."
But Susan went on at her task. Ever since she came East she had worn it in a braid looped at the back of her head. She proceeded to change this radically. With Maud forgetting to be impatient in admiration of her swift fingers she made a coiffure much more elaborate—wide waves out from her temples and a big round loose knot behind. She was well content with the result—especially when she got the veil on again and it was assisting in the change.
"What do you think?" she said to Maud when she was ready.
"My, but you look different!" exclaimed Maud. "A lot dressier—and sportier. More—more Broadway."
"That's it—Broadway," said Susan. She had always avoided looking like Broadway. Now, she would take the opposite tack. Not loud toilets—for they would defeat her purpose. Not loud but—just common.
"But," added Maud, "you do look swell about the feet. Where do you get your shoes? No, I guess it's the feet."
As they sallied forth Maud said, "First, I'll show you our hotel." And they went to a Raines Law hotel in Forty-second Street near Eighth Avenue. "The proprietor's a heeler of Finnegan's. I guess Freddie comes in for some rake-off. He gives us twenty-five cents of every dollar the man spends," explained she. "And if the man opens wine we get two dollars on every bottle. The best way is to stay behind when the man goes and collect right away. That avoids rows—though they'd hardly dare cheat you, being as you're on Freddie's staff. Freddie's got a big pull. He's way up at the top. I wish to God I had him instead of Jim. Freddie's giving up fast. They say he's got some things a lot better'n this now, and that he's likely to quit this and turn respectable. You ought to treat me mighty white, seeing what I done for you. I've put you in right—and that's everything in this here life."
Susan looked all round—looked along the streets stretching away with their morning suggestion of freedom to fly, freedom to escape—helpless! "Can't I get a drink?" asked she. There was a strained look in her eyes, a significant nervousness of the lips and hands. "I must have a drink."