Part 20 (1/2)
There were two barrel chairs on the porch. Miss Blythe picked up a piece of embroidery on a frame from the seat of one of the chairs and sat down. Molly Dale seated herself in the other chair, crossed her knees, and swung a slim, booted leg. From the breast pocket of her boy's gray flannel s.h.i.+rt she produced a long, narrow strip of white to which appeared to be fastened a small dark object. She held the strip of white in her left hand. Her right hand held the dark object and with it began to make a succession of quick, wavy, hooky dabs at one end of the strip of white.
”First time I ever seen anybody trying to knit without needles,” said the perplexed Swing.
”That ain't knitting,” said the superior Racey. ”That's tatting.”
”Tatting?”
”Tatting.”
”What's it for?”
”Lingery.” Racey p.r.o.nounced the word to rhyme with ”clingery.”
”Lingery?”
”Lingery.”
”What's lingery?”
”Lingery is clo'es.”
”Clo'es, huh. h.e.l.luva funny name for clo'es. Why don't you say clo'es then instead of this here now lingery?”
”Because lingery is a certain _kind_ of clo'es, you ignorant Jack.
Petticoats, and the like o' that. Don't you know nothin'?”
”I know yo're lying, that's what I know. Yo're bluffing, you hear me whistlin'. You dunno no more about it than I do. You can't tell me petticoats is made out of a strip of white stuff less'n a half-inch wide. I've seen too many was.h.i.+n's hangin' on the lines, I have. Yeah.
And done too many. When I was a young one my ma would tie an ap.r.o.n round my neck, slap me down beside a tubful of clo'es, and tell me to fly to it. Petticoats! Petticoats, feller, is made of yards and yards and yards like a balloon.”
”Who said they wasn't, you witless Jake? They don't _make_ petticoats of this tatting stuff. They use it for tr.i.m.m.i.n.g like.”
”Tr.i.m.m.i.n.g on the petticoats?”
”_And_ the lingery.”
”But you just now said petticoats and lingery was the same thing.”
”Oh, my Gawd! They are! They are the same thing. Don't y' understand?
Petticoats is always lingery, but lingery ain't always petticoats.
See?”
”I don't. I don't see a-tall. I think yo're goin' crazy. That's what I think. Nemmine. Nemmine. If you say _lingery_ at me again I won't let you introduce me to yore girl.”
”She ain't my girl,” denied Racey, reddening.
”But you'd like her to be, huh? Sh.o.r.e. What does she think about it?
Which one of 'em is she?”
”I didn't say neither of 'em was. You always did take too much for granted, Swing.”