You know—a white form whisking down the stairs and
Lois: (Scandalized) Why, you little wretch. Haven't you any pride or self-respect?
Julie: Lots of both. I think that proves it. I looked very well. I really am rather cute in my natural state.
Lois: Well, you
Julie: (Thinking aloud) I wish people didn't wear any clothes. I guess I ought to have been a pagan or a native or something.
Lois: You're a
Julie: I dreamt last night that one Sunday in church a small boy brought in a magnet that attracted cloth. He attracted the clothes right off of everybody; put them in an awful state; people were crying and shrieking and carrying on as if they'd just discovered their skins for the first time. Only I didn't care. So I just laughed. I had to pass the collection plate because nobody else would.
Lois: (Who has turned a deaf ear to this speech) Do you mean to tell me that if I hadn't come you'd have run back to your room—un—unclothed?
Julie: Au naturel is so much nicer.
Lois: Suppose there had been some one in the living-room.
Julie: There never has been yet.
Lois: Yet! Good grief! How long
Julie: Besides, I usually have a towel.
Lois: (Completely overcome) Golly! You ought to be spanked. I hope, you get caught. I hope there's a dozen ministers in the living-room when you come out—and their wives, and their daughters.
Julie: There wouldn't be room for them in the living-room, answered Clean Kate of the Laundry District.
