MISS THOMASINA TUCKER
“Anything we have, is the general idea,” said Tommy. “Mine is black.”
“Mine’s blue”—“White”—“Pink!” came from the other three.
“But must you wear those particular dresses? Can’t you each compromise a little so as to look better together?”
“So hard to compromise when each of us has one dress hanging on one nail; one neck and sleeves filled up for afternoons and ripped out for evenings!”
“I should get four simple dresses just alike,” said Miss Guggenheim, who had a dozen.
“What if they should hang in our closets unworn and unpaid for?” asked Jessie Macleod.
“We’re sure to get at least one engagement some time or other. Nothing ventured, nothing have. We ought to earn enough to pay for the dresses, if we do nothing more,”—and Tommy’s vote settled it.
Miss Guggenheim knew people, if she did sing flat, and her drawing-room was full on
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