Transvestia

Eventually she managed to croak "Yes." into the telephone, repeating herself several times as Mrs. Boyle went on to suggest a time an hour after the ceremony in Mrs. Boyle's room at a motor court near the hospital. When Mrs. Boyle hung up, Miss Quinn held the instrument to her ear for a while longer, listening to the interesting sound of the dial tone. When the even hum changed to a raucous siren-like tone, indicating a telephone off the hook, Miss Quinn dropped it. Like a broken toy, it lay on the carpet, moaning to itself.

During the ceremonies that afternoon, Miss Quinn remained in a daze. It was her functions to present each of the probies by name as they received their caps, and while she recited the names her mind was awhirl. Perhaps, she thought, tomorrow I can look for a job as a waitress. After all, she had all those white uniforms and she might as well make use of them. The afternoon sprinted.

Dutifully, Miss Quinn went to her appointed fate at the hands of Mrs. Boyle. She had considered simply going back to her apartment and barricading the doors, but she was a person who habitually faced her responsibilities and she could not do otherwise at this stage of the game.

True

To her surprise, Mrs. Boyle was not the coldly irate person she had seemed over the telephone. she was slightly imperious, perhaps a bit condescend- ing, but gracious notwithstanding.

son.

"Please sit down, Miss Quinn," she said.

Miss Quinn sat down gingerly.

"

"Miss Quinn, I wanted to speak to you about my she paused meaningfully. "I was quite sur- prised to see that he has been attending classes in skirts."

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