“And I said I would, so there!” says Gladys emphatic.

Mother sighs and turns to Father, who is makin’ his inspection with a weary look on his face.  He’s just an average, stout-built, good-natured lookin’ duck, Father is, a little bald in front, and just now he’s rubbin’ the bald spot sort of aimless.

“You see, Arthur,” says Mother.  “Can’t you do something?”

First Father scowls, and then he flushes up.  “Why—­er—­ah—­oh, blast it all, Sallie, don’t put it up to me!” says he.  Then he pulls out a long black cigar, bites the end off savage, and beats it around the corner.

That was a brilliant move of his; for Mother turns out to be one of the weepy kind, and in a minute more she’s slumped into a chair and is sobbin’ away.  She’s sure she don’t know why Gladys should do such things.  Hadn’t she forbid her to use so much rouge and powder?  Hadn’t she asked her not to wear those hideous ear jewels?  And so on and so on, with Gladys standin’ back poutin’ defiant.  But, say, when they get too big to spank, what else can Father and Mother do?

Fin’lly Vee seems to have an idea.  She whispers it into Marjorie’s ear, slips into the house, and comes back with a hand mirror and a damp washcloth, which she proceeds to offer to Gladys, suggestin’ that she use it.

“Indeed I sha’n’t!” says Gladys, her big eyes flashin’ scrappy.  “I shall stay just as I am, and if Mother wants to be foolish she can get over it, that’s all!” And Gladys switches over to a porch chair and slams herself into it.

Vee looks at her a minute, and then bites her upper lip like she was keepin’ back some remarks.  Next she whispers again to Marjorie, who passes it on to Mother, and then the three of ’em disappears in the house, leavin’ Gladys poutin’ on one side of the front door, and me in a porch swing on the other waitin’ for the next act.

Must have been ten minutes or more before the two plotters appears again, chattin’ away merry with Mother, who’s between ’em.  And, say, you should have seen Mother!  Talk about your startlin’ changes!  They’d been busy with the make-up box, them two had, and now Mother’s got on just as much war paint as Daughter—­maybe a little more.  Also they’ve dug up a blond transformation somewhere, which covers up all the brown hair, and they’ve fitted her out with long jet earrings, and touched up her eyebrows—­and, believe me, with all that yellow hair down over her eyes, and the rouged lips, she looks just like she’d strayed in from the White Light district!

You wouldn’t think just a little store hair and face calcimine could make such a change in anybody.  Honest, when I tumbles to the fact that this sporty lookin’ female is only Mother fixed up I almost falls out of the swing!  That’s nothin’ to the jolt that gets to Gladys.

“Mother!” she gasps.  “Wha—­what have you been doing?”

“Why, I’ve been getting ready for the tea, Gladys,” says she.