curious male-creatures roll up their sleeves and lather their sinewy forearms generously with soap, then splash furiously, and make the suds fly—but it did, irresistibly. It gave her pleasure to see those big, boisterous, blackened men, make themselves clean and shining before going home to their women. Their rough-hewn features would be all scrimmed-up and dripping wet as they approached the roller-towels. Afterward they would come very close to Reba's corner (it was only in the winter when it was dark that she could stand there unobserved) and brush their hair before a little mirror hung by the window. She could have leaned and touched their heads, had the window been open.
There was one man whom Reba liked to watch in particular—an Italian she thought. He had very white teeth and dark eyes. His forearms were black and hairy. He was a big, jovial fellow. He would come over to the little mirror, with his thick hair all wet and tousled, and apply the brush to it vigorously until it lay flat and smooth and shone with dazzling high-lights, like patent-leather. He would make a straight, white part in it, on one side, and then stand there a moment, critically surveying himself. Many a time Reba wished she could tell him how beautiful she thought he was! What if his nails were rimmed with black machine grease? His skin was pink with scrubbing! His cheek-bones shone. His laugh was clear and bright. His vitality had something of the same indestructible crystal quality of one of the diamonds in her bracelet, she thought. It was this man whom Reba waited for so frequently of late, as she had seen some of the girls who worked in the
