HOW IT IS DONE.

Sun (Christchurch), Volume I, Issue 135, 14 July 1914, Page 6

HOW IT IS DONE.

TURKISH BATHS AND TRANSFORMATIONS. [Written for THE SUN.] We made up our minds to go arul put in an evening at the Turkish Baths, because there was absolutely nothing elss to do—it was the silly season, when the most harmless bit of gossip is received as something infinitely precious, and the announcement of even a garden partyor a musical "at, home", caixsed mild thrills. Besides,'Marcia said it was either Turkish baths or banting, as her figure showed unmistakable signs of development. Her dressmaker had been brutally frank about it. I went for no other rea son than pure boredom, and the pleasure of feeling brand new that Turkish always give me.

We discarded our clothes and hairpins in the little cubicles, and presently emerged, each in the brief and exceedingly simple garment provided, and made a dash for the hot room, saturating our towels at the. cold water tap en route. In the sultry, steam-heated, opaque atmosphere of the hot room we discerned half-a-dozen ladies, all of them turbaned ! with wet towels and visibly melting— j literally oozing at every pore. Pictures j of lovely ladies and gallant gentlemen j of the "Family Herald" type simpered down on us, and gorgeous lithographs of the King and Queen stared us out of countenance from the opposite wall. We made a selection from the pile of light literature displayed on a side table, and I got a "Bow Bells Novelette';' while Marcia had to be content with a luridlooking pamphlet entitled " The Murder at the Black Kock," or "How the Dead Came.to Life." I thought the temperature was quite high enough without aiding and abetting it with literature of this kind, but Marcia thought of her figure and said mysteriously that it all helped. Hard to Identify. Near us sat a lady clad in a simila% garment to those which we wore, and her bounteous proportions spread recklessly fore and aft of the deck-chair which she occupied, and her .scanty locks the only thing scanty about her, barring her .costume —hung limply about her ears. The attendant came in and spoke to her, anil I thought, when she replied, that her voice sounded very familiar. Marcia thought so, too, and we .scrutinised her as closely as we dared, but could discover no more than one of those fleeting resemblances that simply baffle you in the most exasperating manner, giving you a hint of some one you know, but sucn a vague one that it's simply impossible to track it down.

A young girl came in, evidently for the first time. She was fearfully shy, and endeavoured to walk from the door to the nearest chair without disclosing the fact that she had legs—an utter impossibility, as she might have known, in a smock that reached only to the knees. She subsided into the chair with evident

relief, and turbaned herself like the rest of us who had come to melt. ; Then entered the lady with a topfli&teh like a hair-restorer advertisement. She was very conscious of it, too, and walked room so that n<jne should miss it, tossing it out of her' eyes like a restive gee-gee with a too-long mane, and otherwise going through the performance which we as children called showing off. She gazed with scorn upon the head of Lady Scanty-locks, and even Marcia and I, who are not exactly in need of false hair, felt at a disadvai\: tage. We were rejoiced to find, however, when we did get a glimpse of her face, that she was plain, decidedly plain, and we were able to gaze upon her with equanimity after that. '' Providence tempers the wind to the shorn land," murmured Marcia piously, and I answered with equal reverence, ' 1 Amen.'' A Discussion on Ailments. Two ladies in the corner commenced to talk about their ailments —at least, one did the talking, and the Other, with all the will in the world to do likewise, simply didn't get a chance to do more than listen. This is something of what I we heard:—

First Lady—"Yes, my doctor thinks these baths may do me good —I haven r t been right for quite a long time. The doctor says it's my liver, but I put it down to ■ nerves —I am so fearfully' high-strung. The doctor I liacl before was the most impossible person —no culture, no manner—oh, really dreadful. He told. me f in. the bluntest, rudest fashion, that I had really .nothing the matter with me-—I, who have been such a sufferer all my life! He said that all I w r anted was more exercise and less imagination —the unsympathetic brute!" Second lady—"Just before I had that big operation performed, the doctor who I consulted said I had nothing wrong with me except a slight attack of indigestion. But the next one immediately ordered me into his own private hospital and operated on me the next day — sixty guineas for the operation alone." First lady (absently)—"l daresay. . . . Well, as I was saying, he said there was nothing wrong with me, but I knew better, and called in another doctor, ■who saw at once that I was very delicate, and Avas really impressed with my case. He pnt me under special treatment at once, and I am taking three different, kinds of medicine now — one first thing in the morning, one before retiring, and onf> c after meals. I'ih feeling a little better since I went to see liiin, but I don't expect to be much improved for quite a while yet, and the doctor thinks as 1 do."

Second lady (making another valiant attempt to break into the monologue) — "I've been feeling very queer lately. 1 think that this'climate doesn't agree with me. Mv husband says "

First lady—"P'raps it doesu't. It never did agree with me,' but I'm not one of the complaining sort. 1 " Sympathetic Listener Wanted.

Second lady gives up the idea of joining the sad .story of her ailments

into sj'inpathetic ears, and is, moreover, rather hurt at the suggestion that she is unduly complaining. She'beats an injured retreat, and presently a gentle pitter-patter informs us that she is fin- '

ished off with the usual shower in the next room, and will return to the hot room n» more. The first lady, deprived of her listener or victim, whatever you choose to call her, looks about for someone to fill her place. She catches my eye, raised unwarily from the thrilling '' Bow Bells'' romance, and in that second she marks me for her own, and hitches her chair a little closer in a* sociable, art/l at the same "time such a possessive manner, that my .heart sinks. "What are you here for?" she asks briskly - . " Not trying to reduce, are you?" and her eyes travel over my eight stone two with the" frankest curiosity.

I shrink into my brief garment with a faint "N—no," at which her air of sociability and interest becomes more marked, and she hitches her chair yet closer. {' Then I expect you are here under medical orders," she says cheerfully. "Liver?" "Certainly not," I answered with dignity. "I haven't got a liver. I mean "What!" interrupted the lady, ki the high key of breathless interest.'' No liver! Do you mean to tell me that you have had it removed? Did you have a growth? Did you— —"

I heard . Marcia choke. She was speechless with mirth as I with rage. I always had a sneaking sympathy with the woman who disapproved of her daughter embarking in anatomical research because it was "so rude to speak about one's inside," and I objected to l;,e shrilly denounced as a liver-less curiosity for the edification of a roomful ol' people. Besides, as far as I knew, I had a liver. I rose w r itli insulted dignity, and when I could command my voice I spoke to Marcia. Temperature too Hot. "Marcia," I said, "I am going into the next room. The temperature is—ei— too much for me here," and as I stalked out, seeing red, I heard the lady demand of my friend the whys and ■wherefores of my extraordinary statement, and Marcia's voice, sounding quite hysterical with suppressed mirth, making choky replies. As I went into the cool room I saw the tall and finelooking Mrs D coming out of her cubicle, and I gazed upon her with immense admiration. From the shining and abundant coils of hair, only halfhidden by her jaunty little hat, to the last detail of her tailor-made figure, she looked just right. She stopped and spoke to the attendant, and when I heard her voice I remembered! For the lady was none other than she of the scanty locks who had been in the hot room when we arrived, but now hatted, habited, haired and corseted as we were always .accustomed to see her. I looked and listened again—no, there could be no mistake. But—it was no wonder that we hadn't recognised her! S. I. B.