Practically all Branton Hills was talking about Councilman Simpkins;
for Councilman Simpkins just didn't look natural; and Councilman
Simpkins didn't _act_ natural. In fact, Councilman Simpkins was
crawling out of his old cocoon; and, though an ugly, snarling _dowdy_
worm had lain for so long, shut up in that tight mass of wrappings
around his brain, _now_ a gay, smiling moth was coming out; for
Councilman Simpkins was "dolling up!"
If Bill Gadsby was known as a "tailor-shop's outdoor part," Old Bill
was not _a_ part. No, Old Bill _was_ that tailor shop--outdoor, indoor,
or without a door. In fact, Councilman Simpkins now had "_it_," such as
our films talk about so much today.
But Simpkins' outfit was not flashy or "loud." Suits of good cloth,
hats of stylish form, always a bright carnation "just south of his
chin," boots always glossy, and a smart, springy walk, had all Broadway
gasping as this Apollo-vision swung jauntily along. Nancy, happy,
giggling Nancy, was "all of a grin" about this magic transformation;
and, with that old, inborn instinct of womanhood, told Lucy:--
"You just watch, and mark my word. A woman is in this pudding! Old Bill
just couldn't boom out in such a way without having a goal in sight;
and I'll put up a dollar on it."