And--

And I didn't like the look of that man with the cap who opened
the swinging door a bit and peeped in. The women's waiting-room
is no place for a man--nor for a girl who's got somebody else's
watch inside her waist. Luckily, my back was toward him, but just
as the door swung back he might have caught the reflection of my
face in a mirror hanging opposite to the big one.

I retreated, going to an inner room where the ladies were having
the maid brush their gowns, soiled from suburban travel and the
dirty station.

The deuce is in it the way women stare. I took off my hat and
jacket for a reason to stay there, and hung them up as leisurely
as I could.

"Nance," I said under my breath, to the alert-eyed, pug-nosed
girl in the mirror, who gave a quick glance about the room as I
bent to wash my hands, "women stare 'cause they're women.
There's no meaning in their look. If they were men, now,
you might twitter."

I smoothed my hair and reached out my hand to get my hat and
jacket when--when--

Oh, it was long; long enough to cover you from your chin to your
heels! It was a dark, warm red, and it had a high collar of
chinchilla that was fairly scrumptious. And just above it the hat
hung, a red-cloth toque caught up on the side with some of the