Some of these had been
washed to-night and hung to dry on the lines between the dusty
street garments.
Women whose "turns" came late sat about half-clothed reading,
crocheting or sewing, while others added pencilled eyebrows,
powder or rouge to their already exaggerated "make-ups." Here
and there a child was putting her sawdust baby to sleep in the
till of her trunk, before beginning her part in the evening's
entertainment. Young and old went about their duties with a
systematic, business-like air, and even the little knot of
excited women near Polly--it seemed that one of the men had upset
a circus tradition--kept a sharp lookout for their "turns."
"What do you think about it, Polly?" asked a handsome brunette,
as she surveyed herself in the costume of a Roman charioteer.
"About what?" asked Polly vacantly.
"Leave Poll alone; she's in one of her trances!" called a
motherly, good-natured woman whose trunk stood next to Polly's,
and whose business was to support a son and three daughters upon
stalwart shoulders, both figuratively and literally.
"Well, _I_ ain't in any trance," answered the dark girl, "and _I_
think it's pretty tough for him to take up with a rank outsider,
and expect us to warm up to her as though he'd married one of our
own folks.
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