"But she didn't—she said so! She just used olive oil!"
"How old was she?" Miss Sterling inquired with a now-I-'ve-got-you air.
"She was seventy when she had the dewlap; now she's seventy-three or four."
"Polly Dudley! I don't believe it!"
"Why, Miss Nita, I'm telling you the solemn truth!"
"Yes, yes, child! I didn't mean you! But this Aunt Susie—"
"Oh, she's just as honest! Why, she's mother's grandaunt, and she's lovely! She was sick and couldn't do anything, and her hair was thin and her cheeks hung down and she was all wrinkles and she had the dewlap—she said she looked dreadful. Now you ought to see her! She's perfectly well, and her hair is as thick, and it's smooth and solid all under her chin, and her face is 'most as round as mine!"
"How did she work the miracle?" Miss Sterling's eyes twinkled.
"Why, I guess by massage and exercises. She didn't take anything. She did lots of stunts; she had piles of them for her legs and arms and neck and face and feet and all over. She made up mighty funny faces. You lie over this way, and I'll show you one.
"First you must smile—just as hard as you can." Polly laughed to see the prompt grin. "Now I'll put my hands so, and you must do exactly as I tell you." Polly's little palms were pressed against the other's cheeks, and she began a rotary motion.