“‘It was good enough for mother, and it’s good enough for me,’” she quoted sweetly. But Drewena called for a glassful of whisky and handed it to Sophie who began to drink it greedily.
Docky had her hand over her mouth again and was leaning toward Beulah.
“Don’t look now,” she said. “Sophie’s watching us like mad. I’ll bet she thinks we’re dishing her.”
“Well, dearie,” said Beulah, her hand covering her lips also, “she’s right. But I won’t smile, and don’t you dare look now.”
But Docky went on, the rest of the group straining toward her, for no one could dish like Docky.
“My God, Beulah,” she said, “they speak of courage in history. But she has a nerve to come here in that lace!”
“‘Lace’!” Beulah appeared shocked. “She bought that netting at the ten cent store to cover her trade with, when she gets that Cleopatrine feeling! No wonder all the cab drivers around Pennsylvania Station are looking tired these days!”
“Shish!” said Docky. “Look now, dearie. She’s terrible from the front. Do you notice her fallen chest?... And what do you think of the back? And oh!—what ugly hands! I’m sure those hands have snitched many pieces of silver in her time!”
“I don’t care how much silver she has snitched,” said Beulah, “but I do hope she’ll keep her dirty mitts off Miriam. Really, Docky, you don’t honestly believe that Miriam might be jam, now do you?”