the airy breeze that blew her hair about and endangered her hat, for the swaying motion both lulling and exciting.
The very next day, they went out again, and got on another streetcar, and since it was not raining, they went to Mr. Shaw’s garden, which was south on Kingshighway and past Tower Grove Park. They walked along the paths and looked at the trees, reading the labels beneath them, then wandered about the all-glass Linnean House for as long as they could stand the heat. The next day, they went out again.
Dora was most observant of the passersby, whether they were walking or riding the streetcar or wandering through the departments of Stix, Baer & Fuller. She would scrutinize them without seeming to, and then, when they weren’t looking, she would produce some expression or gesture of perfect mimicry. Most of the people they saw were men, and so the effect was quite amusing. Her pencil might turn for an instant into a cigar, her parasol into a cane, her hat into a homburg, her smile into a supercilious smirk. The crowds they encountered were transformed into a gallery of types, all oblivious. For Margaret, there was the added pleasure of watching the eyes of these men pass indifferently over Dora just seconds before she put their idiosyncrasies—something as tiny as a gorge-clearing or an unconscious pull of an ear—on display. Margaret laughed aloud, drawing the attention of Dora’s target, at which point Dora would pass effortlessly into her most maidenly demeanor.
One day, on the streetcar up to Fairground Park and Natural Bridge Road, which was a long, pleasant, breezy ride, Dora reached into her bag and handed Margaret some papers, a manuscript of some three or four pages, fairly but closely written. What it seemed to be was a transcription of the supper conversation of the evening before, written as a play. The dramatis personae were Father, Mother, E., D., M., and X. E. was Etheline, the serving girl. X. was Mrs. Bell’s French bulldog, Xenia. M. was evidently Margaret, and so forth. Dora’s handwriting was copybook—she could have earned her living in a law office.
No scene was set. The dialogue simply commenced:
FATHER Mrs. Bell, Dora is giving Xenia her lamb chop.
MOTHER Of course not.
FATHER Of course not what?
MOTHER Of course she would not give Xenia her lamb chop. She would not do it, Mr. Bell.
FATHER She is doing it.
MOTHER She is not doing it. Dora, are you giving the dog your lamb chop?
DORA No, Mama. Not exactly.
FATHER What exactly are you doing, Dora?
DORA I am giving her my parsnip.
Margaret remembered this exchange. Reading it now made her laugh. When she laughed, Dora grinned.
She turned to the next page:
FATHER Etheline, why haven’t you joined the union yet? They were around here just the other day, weren’t they?
ETHELINE Who was around here?
FATHER The union organizers. She saw them. Did you join up, girl?
ETHELINE No, sir.
FATHER Did you give them any money?
ETHELINE No, sir, I didn’t.
MOTHER To whom did Etheline give some money? Etheline, do you have any money?
ETHELINE No, ma’am. I ain’t never got no money.
FATHER I told you.
MOTHER How would she get money? I don’t give her money.
DORA Mama wouldn’t give Etheline any money if her life depended on it.
Just as Margaret was thinking that Dora was a remarkably observant girl, a man passed between the two of them and got off the streetcar at Cass Avenue. Margaret saw nothing except that he gave his nickel to the conductor, took off his bowler hat, smoothed the brim, and then replaced it on his head, but when she looked at Dora, the girl flared her nostrils and lifted her eyebrow, then straightened her shoulders as if they had been knocked to one side by the swaying of the car. Her head described the exact arc that the man’s head had described when he put his hat on. Then the car jolted forward, and Dora laughed.
After this, Margaret could not take her eyes off Dora. When, in the course of a morning, she had occasion to mimic Elizabeth writing a note to Mr. Hart and absentmindedly putting a dot of ink on her nose, or to mimic Etheline sweeping behind the sofa as if she were stabbing an intruder to death, it was most uncanny, something like the effect of going to an arcade where she might pay a penny and watch a short film.
And this they did also. Dora was ready to do anything. The first film she took Margaret