Kedzie quivered as if she had been lashed. She struck back with her best Nimrim repartee, “You're a nice one to call me a cow, you big, fat, old lummox!”
Miss Silsby fairly mooed at this.
“You—you insolent little rat, you! You—oh, you—you! I'll never let you dance for me again—never!”
“I'd better resign, then, I suppose,” said Kedzie.
“Resign? How dare you resign! You're fired! That's how you'll resign. You're fired! The impudence of her! She turns my life-work into a laughing-stock and then says she'd better resign!”
“How about to-night?” Kedzie put in, dazed.
“Never you mind about to-night. I'll get along without you if I have to dance myself.”
The other nymphs shook under this, like corn-stalks in a wind.
But Kedzie was a statuette of pathos. She stood cowering barelegged before Miss Silsby, fully clothed in everything but her right mind. There was nothing Grecian about Miss Silsby except the Medusa glare, and that turned Kedzie into stone. She finished her tirade by thrusting some money into Kedzie's hand and clamoring:
“Get into your clothes and get out of my sight.”