The Daedalian, Yearbook of the College of Industrial Arts, 1920 Page: 314
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"I won't stay here, any longer'n I can help! Tyrant!" muttered Lucile-inaudibly-to
her mother's departing back.
Then she lay back in the chair and yawned luxuriously, becoming cognizant at the same
time of the beauty of the afternoon and the attractiveness of having the house entirely to
herself. Lazily she lay, half asleep and inactively thinking. Suddenly she thought of her mag-
azine, and the remembrance of the girl detective turned her thoughts in a new, purposeful direction.
"Wish I could go to New York!" she said aloud, daringly. "But I wouldn't be any girl
detective. I think I'd be an actress at Coney Island." Simultaneously with the words, she
conceived a flatteringly attentive vis-a-vis sitting in the straight-backed little chair across from
her. Involuntarily she removed her feet from the chair arm, straightened up in the chair,
smoothed her dress, and brightened her face with a smile.
"Yes, Mr. Banks," she spoke eagerly. And immediately the person of her confidante
shifted from a vaguely nebular state to an entirely visible one; he was a short, stout man
in a brown suit, holding a derby hat on his knee. "I am sure I can do it. I know lots of
funny songs and I learned how to jig last week. And I have the cutest hat and dress I wore
in the Wild West show we gave at the High School last month. Don't you think they would
be nice to wear?"
"Oh, I don't know. *** I'll leave it to you; whatever you thing is right, will suit me.
*** Fifteen a week is all right with me. *** Oh, thank you, I'm going to like it, too.
"N-no, I haven't right now. I spent so much of my allowance ahead of time that
father stopped giving it to me. *** Will you? *** Thank you ever so much! I'll pay
you back soon's I begin getting my salary.
"Why-I think Hugh Moore would be a good partner for me. I wish you would ask
him. He's awfully good looking and I-all the girls are crazy about him.
"Well, I'm sorry you have to go. Guess I'll see you soon in New York. *** Goodbye.
Don't forget to ask Hugh and to come to see me when I get there. *** Well, goodbye."
In the acting out of her part, she had risen to her feet and she finished the conversation
at the hall door. A sudden fear came upon her that someone might have heard her, for her
voice certainly resounded loudly. But the house was as empty and quiet as before and, glancing
at the clock, she saw that it was high time she went into the kitchen; she would not now have
time to dress. She made a face at the disagreeable thought and, happening to see herself in
the mantle mirror, deliberately made some more grimaces, conscientiously endeavoring to look
as ugly as possible, and finding a peculiar fascination in the result.
Suddenly her mental attitude changed and she began to pose before the mirror. With
her back to it, she looked superciliously over one slightly raised shoulder and slowly and grace-
fully waved a derby hat, supposedly in lieu of a fan.
"Oh," she spoke in a cutting tone, "don't trouble yourself, sir. My fiance, Hugh Moore,
will wait on you in the morning to demand repairs for this insult. Good afternoon, Sir Terrence!"
Just then she forgot all about the humiliation of the ducal villain in a rush to the
telephone.
"Hello," rather breathlessly. "This is number 203 . . . Oh, is that you, Mamie?
Hunh? . . . Oh, nothing right now; I got to go and start supper in a minute, though.
Hunh? . . . When? . . . . A real dance? You lucky dog! Gee, ain't it
grand? . . . I dunno, Mamie. I ruined my white slippers yesterday in the rain . ....
No, I don't think she'll let me get any more because she told me not to wear them and she
doesn't know anything about it yet; I've been afraid to tell her. . . . What girls are you
goin' to ask? . . . What you want her for? Of course it's your party, though . ....
Well, goodbye. I'll sure come if I can. S-say, is Hugh Moore going to be there? ....
I just wanted to know. I don't see anything to laugh at; he's not anything to me. . . . Well,
goodbye. See you tomorrow, I guess. . . . Goodbye."
Her joy over the dance-her first one-was tempered by the remembrance of the waiting
potatoes. It was too late to have them finished by the time mother got home. With a sudden
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College of Industrial Arts (Denton, Tex.). The Daedalian, Yearbook of the College of Industrial Arts, 1920, yearbook, 1920; Denton, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth129003/m1/316/?q=%221920~%22: accessed July 16, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Texas Woman's University Libraries.