“Well, it seems he had a sister in Radcliffe who was in the habit of borrowing his clothes. He had a rather small and neat figure, and a large wardrobe, so that he could be drawn upon for almost any kind of dress. The rule, however, was made immediately after this speech of his that men’s costumes were not to be worn at our performances, and great was the lamentation.”
“It isn’t as bad as it used to be,” said another; “we can wear a kind of man’s dress now, provided that the coat has a skirt effect. It isn’t exactly an up-to-date costume, but it is fairly picturesque.”
“And to think,” interposed Clarissa, in a tragic tone, “that at the Pudding plays, or indeed at the Cercle Française, or anything else at Harvard, the boys can put on ballet costumes or any dress that a woman might or mightn’t wear.”
“There’s no equality of rights, even in so frivolous a thing as theatricals,” cried one of the girls in mock sorrow. “Why, Polly, why are you so late? You’ve missed some fun.”
“I’m sorry, but I had to go to the City this afternoon. I suppose the play was fun. But I’ve just seen something quite as funny,” and Polly began to smile at the remembrance.
“Oh, tell us, Polly, for if there is anything funny to be seen, you are sure to see it.”
“Well, I met a girl at the head of Garden Street smoking a big meerschaum pipe.”
“That isn’t funny, it’s pathetic!”
“She must have been ashamed, for when she saw me she tried to put the pipe in her pocket.”
“How ridiculous!”