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The barmaid looked down, smiled and shook her head, put down the
tumbler, polished, and took up another that had been draining, and shook
the drops of water into her little zinc sink.
"She'll be a nice little lot to marry," said the barmaid. "She'll be
wearing the--well, b-dashes, as the sayin' is. I can't think what girls
is comin' to."
This depreciation of the Young Lady in Grey was hardly to Hoopdriver's
taste.
"Fashion," said he, taking up his change. "Fashion is all the go with
you ladies--and always was. You'll be wearing 'em yourself before a
couple of years is out."
"Nice they'd look on my figger," said the barmaid, with a titter. "No--I
ain't one of your fashionable sort. Gracious no! I shouldn't feel as
if I'd anything on me, not more than if I'd forgot--Well, there! I'm
talking." She put down the glass abruptly. "I dessay I'm old fashioned,"
she said, and walked humming down the bar.
"Not you," said Mr. Hoopdriver. He waited until he caught her eye, then
with his native courtesy smiled, raised his cap, and wished her good
evening.
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