The Gamble (I) by Lavyrle Spencer Page B

paying—”
    “Please, ladies, please!” Agatha held up both palms. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
    They all talked at once.
    “What you mean...”
    “Oh, please say you will...”
    “But where else are we going to...”
    Agatha chuckled, beleaguered but flattered by their enthusiasm. “I can’t. How would it look if the president of the local W.C.T.U. sewed costumes for the saloon dancers? The cover of the cage was bad enough, but if I do any more somebody is sure to find out. And furthermore, I have no sewing machine.”
    Three dejected dancers looked around to find it was true.
    “Oh, damn,” Pearl said, plopping down on a chair, “that’s right.”
    “Pearl, you mustn’t use such words,” Agatha reprimanded gently, touching her shoulder.
    With her chin in her palm, Pearl sulked. “I suppose not. But I’m disappointed.”
    “You know...” Agatha struggled a moment. Finally, she admitted, “So am I. I could have used the business, but I guess you can see it is neither possible nor advisable.”
    Violet began, “But, Agatha, couldn’t we—”
    “No, Violet, it’s out of the question. Girls, you saw how long it took five of us to hem this. Ruffles require yards and yards of hemming. And to do it by hand... well, I doubt Mr. Gandy would be willing to pay for my time.”
    “You let us handle Mr. Gandy.”
    “I’m sorry, Jubilee, really I must say no.”
    The girls continued looking glum. Finally Jubilee sighed. “I guess we might as well go, then. Should we take this with us now?” She lifted the red silk between two fingers.
    “You may as well. It’ll save me taking it over, and Mr. Gandy’s already paid me for it.”
    “Well, thanks for the rush job, Miss Downing. You, too, Miss Parsons. If you change your minds, let us know.”
    As Pearl opened the back door, Agatha suggested, “Perhaps you can order the dresses from St. Louis or... or...” It suddenly struck Agatha how absurd her suggestion was. Cancan dresses weren’t exactly advertised in the ready-made catalogues.
    “Sure,” Jubilee said. Then they filed out despondently.
    When they were gone, Violet gazed at the door. “Well, my stars,” she said breathily, touching her temples.
    “My sentiments exactly,” Agatha rejoined, dropping into her chair. “That’s the most zest this old shop has seen since it opened.”
    “They’re wonderful!” Violet exclaimed.
    Yes, thought Agatha sadly, they are. “But we cannot befriend them, Violet, you know that. Not when we’ve just been voted officers of the temperance union.”
    “Oh, bosh! They don’t sell spirits. And they’re not ladies of the evening anymore. They just dance. Didn’t you hear them?”
    “But their dancing promotes the sale of spirits. It’s all the same.”
    Violet’s mouth pursed. For the second time in several hours she declared in a piqued voice, “Sometimes, Agatha, you’re no fun at all!” Then, leading with her chin, she left the shop for the day.
    Alone, Agatha pondered the strange afternoon. She’d felt more alive than she had in years. She’d laughed andfor a time completely forgotten that the young women were unsuitable clientele for her millinery shop. She had simply enjoyed them instead. But most amazing of all was that she’d actually told them about her accident. It had felt wonderful. And the girls had been amusing. But now that the hubbub had died down, she felt depressed. She wondered what it felt like to be part of a sorority such as that shared by Jubilee, Pearl, and Ruby, to be true friends as they were. Violet was her friend, but not in the sense that the three young dancers were friends. They radiated a real understanding and acceptance of one another, a pride in their limited accomplishments, and an amazing lack of competition. Also, they had the group they called their “family”—not a real family, but better, perhaps, because they were related by choice, not by blood. And that “family” was headed by a riverboat gambler