Her scissors were in the silk before Eunice had time to protest, and away she hacked, with such speed and daring that she had finished the cutting out before the other had finished her careful preparation of the first seam.
“Now then for the tacking!” she cried, and for five minutes on end there was silence, until— “Dear me!” quoth Miss Peggy in a tone of dismay, and peaked solemn brows over her work.
“What is the matter? Has something gone wrong?”
“Um—yes! Seems to have done. The stupid old silk must have got twisted about somehow, when I was cutting out this back. The roses are all upside down!” She spoke in a studiedly careless manner, but Eunice’s face was a picture of woe. To her orderly mind the accident seemed irretrievable; and yet how was it to be remedied, when extravagant Peggy had used every fragment of her material? Her face fell, her voice thrilled with horror.
“Never! You don’t mean it! How dreadful! What will you do? Oh, Peggy, take mine, do, and let me buy something else for myself.”
“Not an inch! It’s no use, Eunice, I will not do it! We are going to have blouses alike, and that’s settled. That’s the worst of these flower patterns, they do cut out so badly: but it is no use grieving over what cannot be cured. Go on with your work, my dear, and don’t mind me.”
“But what will you—”
“Sew it up as it is! I’m not sure that it won’t look better, after all. More Frenchy!” and Peggy pinned the odd pieces together, and smiled at the effect with a complacency which left the other breathless with astonishment. She seemed oblivious of the fact that she had made a mistake, and utterly unconcerned at the prospect of wearing a garment in which the pattern reversed itself in back and front. Such a state of mind was inconceivable to the patient toiler, who rounded every corner with her scissors as carefully as if an untoward nick meant destruction, and pinned and repinned half-a-dozen times over before she could satisfy herself of the absence of crinkles. Peggy was ready to be “tried on” before Eunice had half finished the first process, and though she went obediently at the first call, the ordeal was a painful one to all concerned. Eunice was so nervous and ignorant that she dare hardly make an alteration, for fear of making bad worse, while Peggy wriggled like an eel, turning her head now over this shoulder, now over that, and issued half-a-dozen contradictory orders at the same moment.
“The shoulder creases—put the pins in tighter! The back is too wide—take a great handful out of the middle seam. Why does it stick out like that at the waist, just where it ought to go in? Oh, the fulness, of course, I forgot that. Leave that alone then, and go on to the neck. Put pins in all round where the band ought to go.”
“Tryings on” were numerous during the next few mornings; but, while Eunice’s blouse gradually assumed a trig and reputable appearance, Peggy’s developed each time a fresh set of creases and wrinkles. Neither girl was experienced enough to understand that carelessly cut and badly tacked material can never attain to a satisfactory result, nor in truth did they trouble very much over the deficiency, for Peggy no sooner descried a fault, than her inventive genius hit on a method of concealing it. Revers, niches, and bows were tacked on with a recklessness which made Eunice gasp with dismay, but she could not deny that the effect was “Frenchy” and even artistic, for, whatever might be Miss Peggy’s shortcomings as a plain sew-er, she had a gift of graceful draping which amounted almost to genius. After the first day’s experience Peggy had readily consented to her friend’s plea for a week’s preparation, and well it was that she had done so, for it was five good days before the bodices were sufficiently finished to allow the sleeves to be taken in hand. Oh, those sleeves! Who would ever have believed that it could be so difficult to fit such simple things, or to persuade them to adapt themselves to holes expressly provided for their accommodation? The girls spent weary hours turning, twisting, pleating in, letting out, tacking, and untacking, until at length Peggy’s long-worn patience gave way altogether, and she vowed that not once again should the blouse go on her back until she donned it for the evening’s exhibition.