black patent leather belt too and, out of sight of her mother, pulled it tight into the second last hole.
Lucy wore a suit. Soft navy wool, box-pleated almost ankle-length skirt and a short bolero jacket over a white crepe de Chine blouse with frills at throat and wrists. Mae had made it during lunch and after-work hours at the Bittner Sisters to avoid harangues from Mabel. The material, a bargain left over from a special order at the Bittner Sisters, was the best she ever had been able to afford for Lucy.
"A fine outfit for a schoolgirl," Mabel commented sarcastically.
How she hates my Pussy, thought Mae. She knew the suit was beautifully made, and navy was a refined color. Lucy looked like a young society girl in Mode. Let Mabel scold as much as she liked now'. At last they were able to save money in a going-away-from-Mabel fund. In the top right-hand bureau drawer a candy box contained $4.50 Lucy had saved from posing. Five dollars had gone for a bottle of perfume—Lily of the Valley. Mae's savings had not begun yet because of the new school outfit. Lucy's feet looked beautiful in the new black patent leather slippers with the high ankle straps. 'That artist ought to see her now, she thought lovingly. She would make a beautiful picture. Lucy had asked her to come along sometime and see that artist's studio but it was out of the way and she was so tired after work.
The two girls walked, crushing autumn's first shell-curled leaves. My goodness, thought Lucy, I've certainly learned a lot since Denver last year. Dirty old Mr. Schmidt and Mr. Brady wouldn't scare me now. How silly to be so excited because I could dance for five dollars at that dirty Bison Hall. Clem's nice. I don't have to ask him for my pay the way I had to ask Mr. Brady. Someday I'm going to surprise Clem and kiss him. His beard can't be so scratchy. He tells such interesting things about Paris France and New York City. Paris was a hazy mirage shimmering on the far horizon of a foreign sea. But New York was coming nearer and nearer; maybe she would be on Broadway's magic carpet right after the clock struck Commencement in the spring. Even though there isn't a dancing school in Congress I can practice fouettés in Clem's downstairs room, and by spring we'll have enough money if I keep on posing to go to New York and get a job dancing.
"Just think," Vida was saying, "next year this time we'll be walking to high school."
"High school!"
