Then Clif laughed out—a great roar of laughter. “Don’t you see what it is, Mater,” he said; “it’s the trail of Miss Phillipson. These little donkeys think because they too waste good ink, they ought to look slovenly, and pitchfork their clothes on them like that sweet creature does.”
Then Mrs. Wise looked enlightened and also very determined. The girls had become acquainted with a woman journalist, a clever, really excellent woman, but one entirely devoid of any personal vanity. Ted said he was convinced she only did her hair once a month, used her hat for a pillow, and fashioned her dresses out of old bagging. Phyl and Dolly, full of admiration for her powers, suddenly felt themselves conceited little butterflies to be so fond of pretty, fresh muslins and chiffon daintinesses and well-fitting shoes and gloves. They began to think it necessary to live up to their profession, and hence that careless collar and unchanged frock.
[292]
]But the mother nipped the weakness ruthlessly, and for so gentle a woman was quite scathing. The daintiest, most particular of her sex herself, she had absolutely no tolerance for untidy, slip-shod women; it was quite a creed with her that every girl should make the best of her appearance, and that too little thought for clothes was even worse than too much. The very poorest, she used to say, in these days of cheap prints and materials, need never be other than fresh and neat.
“You may march yourself straight up-stairs, my lady,” she said, “and do your hair again, and put on your pink blouse, and see your collar meets exactly and precisely under your chin. And when Dolly comes in she may do just the same. If I see any more of this, I shall treat you as if you were in pinafores, and dress you myself.”
Phyl retired. Her mother in that attitude was not to be gainsaid, and there was no doubt the fit and delicate tint of the pink cambric blouse afforded her vanquished spirit some consolation as she put it on.
She did her hair in the more elaborate fashion, brushed every speck of dust from her skirt, and descended again.
“I don’t a bit like to own it,”
she said, “but I must say I feel sprucer, body and soul, than I did before. I believe, after all, one would begin to think and act in a slip-shod fashion if one dressed slip-shoddily.”
[293]
]Mrs. Wise smiled approval. “I am convinced no woman ever committed suicide,” she said, “just after a cold bath, or while she was wearing a freshly-got-up blouse—especially if it was of really pretty material.”
“Whoa there! Here’s copy going to waste,” said Clif. “Where’s your note-book, Phillipina? ‘Clean Boiled Clothes as a Preventive of Crime.’ There’s a subject made to your hand. Any suggestions to offer as to material, Mater? Would you say, for instance, muslin would ward off Melancholia, or calico Kleptomania?”