CHAPTER XXVIII.
SALLY BREAKS A MIRROR As Sally had remarked the night before, one does not pay much attention to a toilet when one rises at 5 a.m.At least that is the rule, but Sally, turning out with a groan in the chill, dark room, shut off the alarm, lighted her lamp, and set about the serious task of dressing.

A woman, after all, is much like a diplomatic statesman; a hint along certain lines is more to her than a sworn statement.
She had secured a large mirror, and in front of this she laboured patiently for a full ten minutes, twisting her hair this way and that, and using the comb and brush vigorously.

Now and then, as she worked, she became aware that a fluff of hair rolling down low over her forehead did amazing things to her face and brought her from Sally Fortune into the strange dignity of a "lady." But she could not complete any of the manoeuvres, no matter how promisingly they started.

In the end she dashed a handful of hairpins on the floor and wound the hair about her head with a few swift turns.
She studied the sullen, boyish visage which looked back at her.

After all, she would be unmercifully joked if she were to appear with her hair grown suddenly fluffy and womanly--it would become impossible for her to run the eating-place without the assistance of a man, and a fighting man at that.