CHAPTER XIII
THE QUEST OF A TWEED COAT
With aunt and uncle safely ensconced on the side porch, between books and papers enough to hold their attention for a considerable time, Glory proceeded to “dig up the fun.”
“I’ll play I’m Hazel,” she decided, “although I hope no one asks me to supply the wonderful voice.” An original trill demonstrated why.
The blinds were closely drawn, and the Morningside room seemed a safe enough place for her exploit.
“Here, Tobias,” she ordered, “you can’t stay. You might scratch something or upset a cushion. Skiddoo!”
Reluctantly the big cat went out and again the door was silently closed.
“Every sort of make-up,” ruminated the girl. “I may as well be very pretty while I’m about it.”
What Trixy called the “tools” were found in a corner of the small side drawer of the dressing table, and along with them was a collection of various shades of powders, tints and even paste, the like of which Gloria had never before encountered.
They were fascinating. She daubed on white—all around her ears and over her nose, then she perfectly white-washed her nose, although she laughed so heartily, (if she did have to take it out in chuckles,) that a shower of the powder came down almost into her mouth.