Feeley a little before six, she scarcely recognized her companion of the morning hours. Mrs. Feeley had evidently struggled into her “corsets” in honor of the occasion. Her hair was a froth of ringlets and she had on face powder. The black dotted Swiss dress she wore was beautifully crisp, and her tiny feet looked dainty in white canvas pumps. Miss Tinkham had exchanged her sequin cap for a large, dashing model of brown horsehair braid lavishly trimmed with kolinsky tails. She always thought there was nothing like a bit of fur to add richness to a costume. The classroom was partially filled when the two entered. Miss Tinkham took her regular place in the front row, and an elderly Greek confectioner moved over politely to let Mrs. Feeley have the desk next to her sponsor. Miss Tinkham introduced her to the students at near-by desks, and after returning their greetings Mrs. Feeley sat back to take in the sights. Some of the people were asking each other questions about the lesson, a few were writing things on the blackboard, and the rest were just visiting with each other.
