"You See, I Am Joost Like A White Woman," Said The Swarthy
Queen.
"I wear boots (she drew her bare brown feet and legs under
her) and corsets.
Zey are la," and she pointed to the wall, where,
in very truth, tied up with a bundle of dried fish, were the articles
in question. Not simply boots and corsets, but high-heeled Louis
Quinze slippers and French corsets. I learned afterward how they
were worn. When she went shopping to the H. B. Co. store she had
to cross the "parade" ground, the great open space; she crowded her
brown broad feet into the slippers, then taking a final good long
breath she strapped on the fearfully tight corsets outside of all.
Now she hobbled painfully across the open, proudly conscious that
the eyes of the world were upon her. Once in the store she would
unhook the corsets and breathe comfortably till the agonized
triumphant return parade was in order.
This, however, is aside; we are still in the home of the queen. She
continued to adduce new evidences. "I am just like a white woman.
I call my daughter darrr-leeng." Then turning to a fat, black-looking
squaw by the fire, she said: "Darrr-leeng, go fetch a pail of
vaw-taire."
But darling, if familiar with that form of address, must have been
slumbering, for she never turned or moved a hair's-breadth or gave
a symptom of intelligence. Now, at length it transpired that the
social leader wished to see me professionally.
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