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Updated: May 3, 2025
She's going to have the stage to herself for ten minutes, during which she'll make four changes of costume to demonstrate the usefulness of the skirt for every sort of gown from chiffon to velvet. Come back here at one, if you like. If I'm not here, come over to the show. But lunch! I'd choke." At twelve-thirty, there scampered into Emma's office a very white-faced, round-eyed little stock-girl.
Every woman in it, from the little new Swede stock-girl to Gladys Hemingway, who is only working to wear out her old clothes, was standing with her face toward the elevator, and on her face a look that would make the ordinary door-mat marked 'Welcome' seem like an insult. I kind of smoothed my back hair, because I knew that only one thing could bring that look into a woman's face.
Then, to the stock-girl, "Annie, tell Myrtle I want to see her." Silence fell again upon the three. Myrtle, very limp, very thin, very languid indeed, roused them at her entrance. The hopeful look in Emma's eyes faded as she beheld her. Myrtle was so obviously limp, so hopelessly new. "Annie says you want me to take Gertie's place," drawled Myrtle, striking a magazine-cover attitude.
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