Upon the occasion of
their first adjustment, Romance, for the first time, had leaned briefly
into the smooth monotony of Miss Schump's day-by-day, to waft a scented,
a lace-edged, an elusive kerchief.
"You ought to heard, mamma, that fellow over in the specs, when he gimme
the test for the glasses."
"What?"
"Tee-hee!--it sounds silly to repeat it."
"You got the Schump eyes, Stella. I always used to say, with his big
blue ones, your poor father ought to been a girl, too."
"'Say,' he said to me, he said, just like that, 'I know a society who
will pay you a big fat sum if you'll sign over them eyes for
post-mortem laboratory work. Believe me, Bettina,' he said, just like
that, 'those are some goo-goos!'"
"'Goo-goos'?"
"Yes, ma--the way I look out of them."
"See, Stella, if you'd only mix with the young men and not be so
stiff-like with them. See! Is he the sober, genteel kind who could sit
out an evening in a self-respectin' girl's front parlor?"
"I--I can't ask a fellow if he didn't ask me, can I? I can't make a
pusher out of myself."
"A girl don't have to make a pusher out of herself to have beaus; it's
natural for her to have them in moderation.
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