"What? I don't see anything."

"Why, that! It's getting wabbly." Her slim forefinger pushed the
flesh back and forth.

"Oh!" Polly's face brightened. "I remember! That's what
Grandaunt Susie called it! She said she used to have an awful
one--it hung 'way down. And she cured it! You'd never dream she
had one ever!"

"Oh, yes, you can do away with such things if you have money--if
you can go to a beauty-doctor!" The tone was bitter.

"No, she didn't!" hastened the eager voice. "She did it herself!"

"Of course, if you have expensive creams and all the
paraphernalia--"

"But she didn't--she said so! She just used olive oil!"

"How old was she?" Miss Sterling inquired with a now-I-'ve-got-you
air.

"She was seventy when she had the dewlap; now she's seventy-three
or four."

"Polly Dudley! I don't believe it!"

"Why, Miss Nita, I'm telling you the solemn truth!"