“I wish that lady would wake up,” said a female voice across the aisle. “I fear her hair will lose its Grecian effect. But I will not arouse her; it might make her mad.”
“I believe, without being able to say positively, Charlie, that she has on fluffy ruffers,” said Roark, laughing.
“I have studied the combination and I can’t quite unlock it,” said Sanford, “but I think she has what they call a transformation pompadour, with coronet braid, zephyr curls, all of which is covered with a bunch of real Grecian curls, but I must admit that I am not much on diagnosing a case like this.”
“Make way, for the earth is giving,” said a citizen who had just arrived.
A section of hair, shaped like a shovel, such as the farmers use for bursting out middles, or to go with a sweep, gave way and fell, inside up.
“That’s a loller-perlooler,” said Roark. “I wonder if we could get a basket to put it in?”
The rain of ornaments had started. Everybody was expectant. Rats, rolls, puffs, curls and knots were loosening. A bundle of wire, something akin to a small mouse trap, came with the hair.
“Nope, it’s the Wire Trust in disguise,” declared Roark.
“Hold your tongue! It’s a summer hotel,” said the newcomer, who had become thoroughly interested, as a bit of hair, done up in fine silk, fell out. “Rats, rat traps and mosquito nets.”