n suits f'r gawlf."

Louie ran an uncomfortable finger around the edge of his collar, but he
stood his ground. "It--it--shows your--neck so," he objected, miserably.

Sophy opened her great eyes wide. "Well, supposin' it does?" she
inquired, coolly. "It's a perfectly good neck, ain't it?"

Louie, his face very red, took the plunge. "I don't know. I guess so.
But, Sophy, it--looks so--so--you know what I mean. I hate to see the
way the fellows rubber at you. Why don't you wear those plain shirtwaist
things, with high collars, like my mother wears back home?"

Sophy's teeth came together with a click. She laughed a short cruel
little laugh. "Say, Pink Cheeks, did yuh ever do a washin' from seven to
twelve, after you got home from work in the evenin'? It's great!
'Specially when you're living in a six-by-ten room with all the modern
inconveniences, includin' no water except on the third floor down.
Simple! Say, a child could work it. All you got to do, when you get
home so tired your back teeth ache, is to haul your water, an' soak your
clothes, an' then rub 'em till your hands peel, and rinse 'em, an' boil
'em, and blue 'em, an' starch 'em. See? Just like that. Nothin' to it,
kid. Nothin' to it."

Louie had been twisting his fingers nervously. Now his hands shut
themselves into fists. He looked straight into Sophy's angry eyes.

"I do know what it is," he said, quite simply. "There's been a lot
written and said about women's struggle with clothes. I wonder why
they've never said anything about the way a man has to fight to keep up
the thing they call appearances. God knows it's pathetic enough to think
of a girl like you bending over a tubful of clothes. But when a man has
to do it, it's a tragedy."

"That's so," agreed Sophy. "When a girl gets shabby, and her clothes
begin t' look tacky she can take a gore or so out of her skirt where it's
the most wore, and catch it in at the bottom, and call it a hobble. An'
when her waist gets too soiled she can cover up the front of it with a
jabot, an' if her face is pretty enough she can carry it off that way.
But when a man is seedy, he's seedy. He can't sew no ruffles on his
pants."

"I ran short last week," continued Louie. "That is, shorter than usual.
I hadn't the fifty cents to give to the woman. You ought to see her! A
little, gray-faced thing, with wisps of hair, and no chest to speak of,
and one of those mashed-looking black hats. Nobod