The astonished tourists gaped at the figure Connie made, her girlish pudginess stuffed into a lawn shift, woolen combinations peeking out from under several layers of petticoats, the tightly laced corset which created unsightly bulges both above and below, topped off with the leather chaps-tied on over the petticoats. The Roman “boots” were icing on the cake.
”Uh …thank you…”
They accepted Connie’s choices a bit reluctantly, but obediently sat down to try on the boots.
Connie came back shaking her head. “If they`d just read the signs …You have to watch ’em like hawks. Let’s check on Margo. Oh, Lord, she’s already in trouble ….”
And Connie was off again, before Kit could open his mouth to add a single comment.
”No, no, Margo, not that, you’ve got a charity schoolgirl’s cap paired with a lady’s tea gown ….”
”Malcolm,” Kit waved to get the guide’s attention; “get over here! Connie’s on the warpath and we need some decisions!”
Malcolm, looking for all the world like a truant schoolboy caught in a candy store, hastened over. “Sorry. Just catching up on the newest down-time styles.
There’ve been changes in top hats since last season, they’re more tapered from crown to brim-and the new dress lounge coats are magnificent, with that new rolled collar. But did you see those hideous woolen jersey Jaeger suits?” Malcolm shuddered. “They wore those things in July and August, even while exercising. No wonder people died of heatstroke.”
”Malcolm, I didn’t know you were a clothes horse,” Kit teased