cream, and then applied the thick pinkish paste that Al had bought for her. She darkened her eyelids with a light green pencil. In her nervousness she did it all so jerkily that the only result was a distortion of her features.
The girl next to her had dipped her little finger in a pot of red grease and was making a Cupid's bow by covering her own thin lips. Forgetting Al's instructions that she was to follow only the lines of her mouth, which was small, curving up prettily at the corners, she imitated the girl at her left.
As she brushed out her hair (it was gloriously red and hung to her waist), she sighed, thinking of the sacrifice she must make for Art. How stupid she was to promise Al that she would braid her hair into two simple braids when with a little back ruffing she could transform it into twenty-one puffs.
Her face powdered, she undressed to her chemise. Just as she had taken off her stockings and shoes and was reaching for the white ruffled petticoat that went under the party dress, the door flew wide open and Letcher entered. His voice bellowed out, "Hello, girls!" as he slammed the door shut, and laughing, always laughing, walked in among them. Minnie uttered a cry of dismay and snatching her dress, held it up in front of her. Under the thick white paste she felt the burn of her blush.
But Letcher hadn't seen her. He had his arm around one of the girls, hugging her to him, while she squealed protests—though she seemed to make very little resistance. He let her go only to catch another whom he called "Baby Doll."
"Gee, Baby Doll, you look cute today," and his voice was muffled with laughter. "Give us a kiss, will you?"
"I'll give you a slap in the face," answered the girl, making no attempt to draw away from him. "Gee, you're fresh, Letcher, you're fresh as they make 'em."
