I crossed over to a cafe, just opposite, and ordered tea, so that I might witness the conclusion of this drama without myself being the subject of attention. One by one the men dispersed, having tried in vain to engage Miss Jones's interest by promises of every kind of reward if only she would make them lords of her bed. It was the lad with the hammer in his pocket who remained at last. By this time, the sun was slanting lower above the western hill and shooting with gold the wavelets of the lake. The girl, with a little brush, was brushing up the nap of the felt on the floor where the wax models stood. With the nimbleness of her fine-boned hands she worked energetically, driving the brush round in tight circles. What a view she offered as she worked away vigorously on all fours for the next twenty minutes!

Her head with its dark upswept curls was bowed over the task, allowing only a glimpse of her warm gold features, the sharp young nose or the almond eyes. As she toiled on hands and knees, her back was slim and straight, her waist hollowed downwards a little. The lad at the glass watched open-mouthed and wide-eyed from behind her. In such a posture, the pants-denim was tight and smooth as a skin over the deliciously rounded cheeks of Miss Jones's bottom. Better still, the shape of her figure is such that she appeared to be offering them deliberately parted-a rear access between her legs-to the lad who gazed upon her. The hammerhead in his trouser pocket seemed larger than at first and the industrious boy was evidently trying to polish it a little, as I judged. Throwing discretion to the winds, he moved forward and stood over the minx, as if anxious that she should see his interest in her. A pale dark-haired girl appeared in the shadows of the emporium and said something which attracted Miss Jones's attention. But Miss Jones, randy little piece that she is, merely glanced at the lad and then turned a malicious smile upon the other girl.