The mother remarked, with forced playfulness, as she
watched her, "Elsie's a g-r-e-a-t girl, I tell you. You can't fool
her."
[Illustration: The Baltimore Oriole.]
As the trimmer returned the boxes to the shelves, I overheard her
mutter, "Oh, yes, Elsie is a g-r-e-a-t girl, a perfect little jewel, so
well-behaved. Her polite manners show her careful home training; quite
a reflection on her dear mamma." But from the peculiar laugh she gave
I didn't believe she really meant it as praise.
When the nights grew longer and the store was closed for the evening,
the milliner and her husband usually spent an hour or two in the back
room looking over the newspaper which came every day from the city.
The man always turned at once to the wheat reports, and the price of
wool, which he read aloud to his wife, though I could see she did not
care very much to hear about them; but she hunted first for the fashion
notes and the bargains in millinery before she read the other news.
One night while thus engaged she suddenly exclaimed:
"Here's something that is bound to hurt trade."
By trade she meant the millinery business.
"What is it?" her husband inquired, looking over the top of the page he
held.
"Why, here's a lot of women who have been meeting in a convention in
Chicago and getting excited and losing their heads, and passing some
ridiculous resolutions.
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