the baby's door. Once around the turn, everything was all right.
The room found there was cut glass, or at least that was a first impression of it. There was an astonishingly large cut-glass lamp on the table, that had no proportionable relation to the rest of the room. The sideboard fairly sagged beneath the weight of nappies, ice tubs, and fruit bowls. The china closet flashed a glimmering, glassy smile, and on the window sill a vase with the fashionable "daisy cut" posed haughtily like a white and dazzling mannequin.
There were portières made of green plush ropes and a couch with a red, green, and yellow cover. The red predominated, and the couch opened—two items which had brought the couch and its cover to be part of the household effects of Mrs. Edna Driggs.
The wall paper was blue. The landlord had permitted Edna her own choice with the renewal of her lease two years before.
"The wall paper goes with my rug," she often pointed out to friends on their first visit.
Sue Cudahy had said, "It didn't go with your rug to the cleaners," and Edna had sort of lost pride in her wall paper since then.
Dot threw her hat and coat on the couch and sat down beside them.
"Hey, get up," said Edna. "What do you think we're going to do? Sit around all night and talk about what you would do if you caught Eddie with another girl? Get up. I'm going to make the bed."
"Aw, let's talk a little while, Edna, I ain't sleepy."
"That's tough, because I am. You can sleep next to the window where you can talk it over with the breezes."
Edna's words came from the closet, where she was tidily leaving her coat upon a hanger. Dot watched her as she rushed about, pushing the chairs this way and that
