In the bare-walled locker-room Miss Essie Birdsong leaned to her reflection in the twelve-inch wavy mirror and ran a fine pencil-line along the curves of her eyebrows.
"Is this right, Loo?"
"Swell! Your eyes look two shades darker."
"Gee!"
Miss Birdsong smiled and leaned closer.
"The girls all out, Loo?"
"Yeh; hurry up and lemme have that mirror, Ess—Harry gets as glum as glue if I keep him waiting."
Miss Pope adjusted a too-small hat with a too-long pheasant's wing cocked at a too-rakish angle on her brass-colored hair, and powdered at her powdered cheek-bones.
"Here—you can have the mirror first, Loo. I—I ain't in a hurry to-night. You and Harry better go on and not wait round for me."
Miss Pope placed her long, bird-like hands on her slim hips and slumped inward at the waist-line; her eyes had the peculiar lambency of the blue flame that plays on the surface of cognac and leaves it cold.