“Beauty soap?” she repeated.
I held up one of my pink boxes.
“Bubbles of Beauty,” I recited, “the wonder soap that makes all women beautiful. It cures warts and blemishes,” I added, “so it ought to be good for blotches. Don’t you think so?”
She laughed.
“Jerry, where in the world did you get this soap?”
I told her about the old soap man in the deserted mill.
“I’ve sold six boxes,” I bragged.
“To women?”
“Sure thing,” I grinned. “You better buy a box, Mrs. Meyers. Of course,” I added quickly, “I realize that you don’t need it yourself, for you [[79]]are beautiful already. But you can use it on Red.”
“On his back?”