is to laugh," Honey said
after a silence, a glint of amusement in his big eyes, "and that is the
care they take of those useless feet of theirs. Lulu's even taken to
doing hers up every night in oil or cream. It's their particular vanity.
Now, take that, for instance. Men never have those petty vanities. I
mean real men--regular fellows."

"How about the western cowboy and his fancy boots?" Frank shot back over
his book.

"Oh, that's different," Ralph said. "Honey's right. That business of
taking care of their feet symbolizes the whole sex to me. They do the
things they do just because the others do them--like sheep jumping over
a wall. Their fad at present is pedicure. Peachy's at it just like the
rest of them. Every night when I come home, I find her sitting down
with both feet done up in one of those beautiful scarfs she's collected,
resting on a cushion. It's rather amusing, though." Ralph struggled to
suppress his smile of appreciation.

"Clara's the same." Pete smiled too. "She's cut herself out some high
sandals from a pair of my old boots. And she wears them day and night.
She says she's been careless lately about getting her feet sunburned.
And she's not going to let me see them until they're perfectly white and
transparent again. She says that small, beautiful, and useless feet were
one of the points of beauty with her people."

"Julia's got the bug, too." Billy's eyes lighted with a gleam of
tenderness. "Among the things she found in the trunk was a box of white
silk stockings and some moccasins. She's taken to wearing them lately.
It always puts a crimp in me to get a glimpse of them--as if she'd
suddenly become a normal, civilized woman."

"Now that I think of it," Frank again came out of his book. "Chiquita
asked me a little while ago for a pair of shoes. She's wearing them all
the time now to protect her feet--from the sun she says."

"It is the most curious thing," Billy said, "that they have never wanted
to walk. Not that I want them to now," he added hastily. "That's their
greatest charm in my eyes--their helplessness. It has a curious appeal.
But it is singular that they never even tried it, if only out of
curiosity."

"They have great contempt for walking," Honey observed. "And it has
never occurred to them, apparently, that they could enjoy themselves
so much more if they could only get about freely. Not that I want
them to--any more than you. That utter helplessness is, as you say,
appeal