room. Two standards bearing the Bison and American flags stood at the far end behind the space relegated to the musicians, and twisted purple and orange crepe paper streamers were strung from the center light to the far corners of the hall.
Speechlessly they followed a beery grizzled janitor across the echoing slippery floor into the ladies' cloakroom.
And all that money for the costume, Mae wailed inwardly as Lucy felt herself getting madder and madder at Mr. Brady. But neither confessed disillusion to the other, clinging to the faint hope that maybe everything would be O.K.
Mae unpacked automatically. She shook out the costume and hung it at the end of the coat rack. Then she folded the bedsheet and put it on the soiled cushion of the wicker couch.
"I guess we're awfully early, lie down and rest, Pussy."
The big clock on the wall ticked and a subterranean roll, roar and clap of bowling counterpointed their disquieting thoughts. Mae's wicker chair squeaked as she sighed.
A stultifying inertia had enveloped them when a dozen men and women rushed in, strident with jollity, bustlingly led by a woman in beaded brown satin. Lucy sat up quickly and smoothed her best blue silk dress over her knees.
"Well, well, well, so this is the little lady who's going to dance for us. My, my, my, what a pretty girl!" beamed Mrs. Brown Satin.
Warmth tinged Mae's low spirits. There was a gathering commotion of new arrivals, while Mrs. Brown Satin and her committee built pyramids of thick ham and cheese sandwiches. There was a rumbling of kegs of near beer, accompanied by giggles about the bottles being rushed into hiding in the men's toilet.
"Have a sandwich, dearie," invited Mrs. Brown Satin.
Lucy ate slowly, with polite small bites to make the deliciousness last a long time. Mae, too timid to take a sandwich, did accept a glass of near beer and, pleasantly stimulated, relaxed a little. Lucy took a drink from her mother's glass and wrinkled her nose.
"It's bitter, but I like the tickle of the bubbles."
Perhaps, hoped Mae, everything would be all right. Solid business success which had padded the bodies of the Bison women bolstered her spirits. They weren't stylishly dressed, considering how much money they must have. But they looked so substantial, maybe one of them might give her a job. How could strikers speak as they did about these nice people? She moved her chair back into a corner near the coat rack and even rocked a little.
