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Updated: June 26, 2025
"That just goes to show," remarked Pearlie, "that you must never judge a woman in a kimono or a bathing suit. You look nineteen. Say, I forgot something down-stairs. Just get your handkerchief and chamois together and meet in my cubbyhole next to the lobby, will you? I'll be ready for you." Down-stairs she summoned the lank bell-boy. "You go outside and tell Sid Strang I want to see him, will you?
At which the czar, secure in his toothlessness, rippled his fat face into dimples, and triumphantly brought forth a whole succession of "goos." "Ain't he a peach?" Pearlie said with pride. "Some kids won't show off worth a cent when ye want them to, but he'll say 'goo' if you even nudge him.
You ought to get your rest on Sunday instead of stewing over a hot stove all morning." "Hot fiddlesticks, ma," Pearlie would say, cheerily. "It ain't hot, because it's a gas stove. And I'll only get fat if I sit around. You put on your black-and-white and go to church. Call me when you've got as far as your corsets, and I'll puff your hair for you in the back."
"Do I think you can do it, Pearlie, that I do you can do whatever you go at I always knew that." "Pearl, child," cried her mother, "don't be hugging your Pa like that, and you with your good dress on; don't you see the dust and dirt on him you will ruin your clothes child."
The only thing that he was sure of was that she wanted to see Danny, and that she had said something about planting seeds in him. Jimmy and Pearlie thought it best not to mention Danny's proposed visit to their mother, for they knew that she would be fretting about his clothes, and would be sitting up mending and sewing for him when she should be sleeping.
That's awful talk for a girl especially. Whatever will become of her when she leaves home. She'll be in hot water all the time." "No fear of Pearlie!" said her father proudly as he opened the end door of the stove and picked up a coal for his pipe, placing it without undue haste in the bowl, and carefully pressing it down with his thumb.
Pearlie Schultz looked down at the leading lady kindly and benignantly, as a mastiff might look at a terrier. "Lonesome for a bosom to cry on?" asked she, and stepped into the room, walked to the west windows, and jerked down the shades with a zip-zip, shutting off the yellow glare. She came back to where the leading lady was standing and patted her on the cheek, lightly.
Taffy or no taffy, he could not bear to face her. "Go tell her, Bugsey man," Pearlie urged. "Tell her ye'r sorry. I w'uldn't mind tellin' Miss Barner anything. Even if I'd kilt a man and hid his corp, she's the very one I'd git to help me to give me a h'ist with him into the river, she's that good and swate."
It gave her many hours of unearned freedom for gadding and gossiping. "Pa, will you look after Pearlie for a little while this morning? I got to run downtown to match something and she gets so tired and mean-acting if I take her along. Ma's goin' with me." He loved the feel of Pearlie's, small, velvet-soft hand in his big fist. He called her "little feller," and fed her forbidden dainties.
"F'r heaven's sakes, Dike, wake up! We're livin' here. This is our place. We ain't rubes no more." Dike turned to his father. A little stunned look crept into his face. A stricken, pitiful look. There was something about it that suddenly made old Ben think of Pearlie when she had been slapped by her quick-tempered mother. "But I been countin' on the farm," he said miserably.
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