od
points. You never can tell when some old girl is going to pull a lot
of patronage your way," the fat girl advised practically. "Tell 'em
your name and suggest that they call for you next time. You've got to
get wise to the trick of holding what you get. Beat it, kiddo--being
slow won't help you none with Rumley, and she's got the axe,
remember."

Thus adjured, Miss Rose beat it, arriving rather breathlessly at her
chair, which was occupied by a rather sprightly looking woman with
pretty hands and a square jaw and hair just beginning to gray over the
temples. She had her hat off and was regarding herself seriously in
the mirror, wondering whether she should touch up the gray, as some of
her intimate friends advised, or let it alone as her brother Fred
insisted.

Miss Rose was too busy counting customers to notice who was in her
chair until she had come close.

"Why, hello, Kate," she said then. "I was just wondering what had
become of you."

"Oh, I've been so busy, Marion. I just had to _steal_ the time today
to come. You weren't out to my reading last night, and I was afraid
you might not be well. Do you think that I ought to touch up my hair,
Marion? Of course, I don't mind it turning, so much--but you know
appearance counts _everything_ with an audience until one begins to
speak. Fred says to leave it alone--"

"Well, you do it." Miss Rose leaned over the chair with a handful of
hairpins to place in the little box on the dressing shelf, and spoke
confidentially in the ear of her patron. "It's not my business to
knock the trade, Kate--but honestly, that sign up there, that says
'Hair Dyed at Your Own Risk' ought to say, 'to your own sorrow.' If
you start, you've got to keep it up or it looks simply frightful. And
if you keep it up it just ruins your hair. You have such _nice_ hair,
Kate!" She picked up a sterilized brush and began stroking Kate's hair
soothingly. It was not such nice hair. It was very ordinary hair of a
somewhat nondescript color; but Kate was her dearest friend, and
praise is a part of the profession. "What do you want?--a scalp,
shampoo, or just dressed, or a curl, or what?"

"What," Kate retorted pertly. "Just fuss around while I talk to you,
Marion. I--"

"Rumley won't stand for fussing. I've got to do something she can
recognize across the room. How about a scalp? You can talk while I
massage, and then I'll show you a perfectly stunning way to do your
hair--it's new, and awfully good