"It's no use--" she groaned, "perpetual waste motion--and now waste color!
What to do--what to do!
"Yet I must reform them somehow. That Iva Payne! Like a pure, pale
lily--but I bet her soul has got its rubbers on! Lotta Munn--spinster in
name only--with her foolish pleasures and palaces--Daisy Snow, little
innocent-making saucer eyes at my husband--oh, Bill, dear, I love you so--
I wish I was pale and peaked and wise and--yes, and artistic! So there now!
"Well, there's only two alternatives. I must reform this toy town, or be
dragged down to their terrible depths myself!
"Aunt Dressie says, love and grow thin. I surely love Bill enough, but if
he doesn't love me--maybe I'd better try somebody else. It's done here.
"But not Trymie Icanspoon! No, he makes me sick. I guess I'll eat pickles."
* * * * *
In the pantry she found the under scullery maid screaming with an earache.
"You poor child," she said, sympathetically, "I'll run and get my husband
and he'll cure it."
She flew back to the room where the eager group had their heads together
over the blue prints and wash drawing of the new color organ. Pushing
in between Iva and Lotta she seized Bill by the arm and said, "hurry up
now--matter of life or death--Polly, the maid--dying--urgent case--"
By that time they were down in the servant's pantry where Polly was moaning
and groaning and wailing like a banshee.
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