Now, tell me. Don't blink--unless of course
you're an idiot; all idiots blink. Tell me. Was that dress made
for you or was it cut down?"
"It was my cousin Laetitia's," said Rosalie.
"Of course it was," returned the sharp girl very triumphantly.
"Every One Only's clothes are cut down for her. Poopers! Do you
know what a pooper is? A pooper is half a poop and half a pauper.
Every One Only's a pooper. Well, now you know what you are. You
see that girl over there. Do you know what she is?"
Rosalie said she did not.
"She's a Red Indian."
"Is she?" said Rosalie, much surprised, for the girl did not look
in the least like a Red Indian.
"Ask her," said the sharp girl. "Do you know what I am?"
Rosalie shook her head.
"Answer," said the sharp girl.
"No, I don't," said Rosalie.
"I'm a Sultan," said the sharp girl. "All the nice girls are Sultans
and the school belongs to them. Do I look nice?"
"Very," said Rosalie, though she did not think so.
"Then why didn't you know I was a Sultan? The school belongs to
the Sultans. The One Onlys and the Red Indians are interlopers,
especially the One Onlys. Always shudder when you see a Sultan.
Shudder now."
Rosalie wriggled her shoulders.
"Again, poop."
Rosalie repeated the wriggle.
"Vanish, poop," said the sharp girl, and herself sprung away with
mysterious crouching bounds, her head thrust forward, looking very
like Gagool, the witch, in King Solomon's Mines; and was seen by
Rosalie to pounce upon another small girl who was probably a One
Only and, from her forlorn aspect, certainly a sad and desolated
new.
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