“No, I haven’t,” I replied, retiring to a corner to escape the sweeping strokes of the hair brush in Agony’s hand.
“Why haven’t you?” lamented Hinpoha. “I just have to have one.”
“What for?” I asked.
“To put around my neck, of course,” explained Hinpoha impatiently. “It’s absolutely necessary to finish off this costume. Go out and scrape one up somewhere, Gladys, there’s a dear.”
I obediently made the rounds, but nowhere did I find the desired blue band. Not even a ribbon of the right shade was forthcoming.
“Paint one on,” suggested Agony, with an inspiration born of despair. “Then you’ll surely have it the right shade.”
“The paint box is in the bottom dresser drawer,” said Hinpoha, warming to the plan at once. “Hurry up, Agony.”
“Oh, I’ll not have time to do it,” said Agony, moving toward the door. “I’ve got just fifteen minutes left to sew the ruffle back on the bottom of my white dress to wear in chapel to-morrow when we sing for the bishop, and it’s really more important for the country’s cause that I have a white dress to wear to-morrow than that you have a blue band around your neck to-night. My green and purple plaid silk would look chaste and retiring among the spotless white of the choir, now, wouldn’t it?” And swinging her hairbrush she went out. Oh-Pshaw had already disappeared.
“Here, Gladys,” said Hinpoha, holding out the box to me, “mix the turquoise with a little ultramarine.”
“I’m awfully sorry, ’Poha, but I can’t stop,” said I. “I’ve an interview with Miss Allison in five minutes. Get somebody else, dear.”