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Words: 48459 in 22 pages
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ALWAYS TRUST YOUR LUCK
"It must be fun to be an artist." Stasia's speech was somewhat impeded by the mouthful of pins she was trying not to swallow.
"Fun?" Cynthia frowned, thinking. "Yes, I suppose it is. I wouldn't know how to be anything else. Ouch! That was me you were pinning." She braced herself with one arm against the bulkhead as the ship tipped at a slight angle. "Make that sleeve as short as you can."
Stasia took the last pin out of her mouth. "Slip off your blouse now, and I'll baste it up for you. You'll make a sweet pirate, if pirates ever were sweet."
Cynthia, free of the blouse, turned to experiment before the long mirror in the door, hesitating between the respective merits of a red bandana handkerchief over her black curls and the more sinister effect of a black scarf which could be continued down into a black mask with eyeholes.
Stasia bit off her thread. "There, that's ready. When will you break it to Miss Mitchall that she's got to wear a costume tonight?"
Cynthia giggled. "You ought to come along and help me. But I guess I'll wait till the last minute and rush her into the idea." She glanced toward the bed where a tall, witch's cap, made of green cardboard from the ship's barber shop, reposed beside a cape of green broadcloth, borrowed from Stasia, and a pair of Miss Mitchall's own shoes, now adorned with huge buckles of cardboard and silver foil.
"I'll need some help with my wig," said Stasia, "and then I think we're all finished." The wig was of bright orange yarn, loosely knitted into a tight fitting cap of coarse net which completely covered Stasia's sleek bob.
"It needs tightening at the back. Wait a moment." Cynthia braced her feet. "Dash this boat, I hope she stops rolling before dinner or we shan't have any dance. Do they always have a costume party every trip?"
"Uh-huh. Always the second day before we get into Cherbourg, Paris, day after tomorrow. Aren't you thrilled?"
"Miss Mitchall's the old girl I admire," she said suddenly. "She's got more courage! You know she's returning practically without a job and without money and she's fifty if she's a day, though she looks sixty, poor darling. I don't believe she's got ten dollars beyond her fare to London."
"What was she doing in the States?" asked Stasia.
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