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After she had said good-bye and they Were waiting at the curator's desk, Elinor spoke musingly. "Who was it, do you know, Griffin?" she inquired in a lowered tone. "Isn't she lovely?" she demanded in a thrilling whisper of Elinor, who had slipped into her things and was already at the door..
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"Mamie Johnson did it—poked her finger down her throat and mine, too," he wailed against my breast. "We was full of things people gived us to eat and couldn't eat no more. She said if we did that with our fingers it would make room for some more then. She did it, and I'm going to die dead—dead! "Do you know," interrupted Patricia, suddenly alert again, "I don't believe I'll ever amount to a row of pins as an artist? I always forget the work and think only of the people and the fun. I wonder if I can't brace up and do something worth while. I'll start in tomorrow—see if I don't." That night, after Miss Jinny's trunk had finally been disposed of, and all the gossip of Rockham village and outskirts had been thoroughly aired, and Miss Jinny, tired from her strenuous day, had gone thankfully to bed, Patricia and Elinor were talking over the day's happenings as they brushed their hair in the seclusion of their own room. She swept Elinor off the stool, away from the crowded dressing room, and at last found a deserted corner behind a big cast..
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