When the thing was at its hottest,I bolted.Tom,like the darling he is--(Yes,you are,old fellow,you're as precious to me as--as you are to the police--if they could only get their hands on you)--well,Tom drew off the crowd,having passed the old gentleman's watch to me,and I made for the women's rooms.
The station was crowded,as it always is in the afternoon,and in a minute I was strolling into the big,square room,saying slowly to myself to keep me steady:
"Nancy,you're a college girl--just in from Bryn Mawr to meet your papa.Just see if your hat's on straight."I did,going up to the big glass and looking beyond my excited face to the room behind me.There sat the woman who can never nurse her baby except where everybody can see her,in a railroad station.There was the woman who's always hungry,nibbling chocolates out of a box;and the woman fallen asleep,with her hat on the side,and hairpins dropping out of her hair;and the woman who's beside herself with fear that she'll miss her train;and the woman who is taking notes about the other women's rigs.
And I didn't like the look of that man with the cap who opened the swinging door a bit and peeped in.The women's waiting-room is no place for a man--nor for a girl who's got somebody else's watch inside her waist.Luckily,my back was toward him,but just as the door swung back he might have caught the reflection of my face in a mirror hanging opposite to the big one.
I retreated,going to an inner room where the ladies were having the maid brush their gowns,soiled from suburban travel and the dirty station.
The deuce is in it the way women stare.I took off my hat and jacket for a reason to stay there,and hung them up as leisurely as I could.
"Nance,"I said under my breath,to the alert-eyed,pug-nosed girl in the mirror,who gave a quick glance about the room as Ibent to wash my hands,"women stare 'cause they're women.