She goes
over you with a bristle brush, and warms up your nerve ends until
you tingle clear back to your dorsal fin and then she takes one
of those orange wood stobbers previously referred to, and goes on
an exploring expedition down under the nail, looking for the quick.
She always finds it. There is no record of a failure to find the
quick. Having found it she proceeds to wake it up and teach it
some parlor tricks. I may not have set forth all these various
details in the exact order in which they take place, but I know
she does them all. And somewhere along about the time when she
is half way through with the first hand she makes you put the
other hand in the suds.
Later on when you have had more practice at this thing you learn
to wait for the signal before plunging the second hand into the
suds, but being green on this occasion, you are apt to mistake
the moving of the crock of suds over from the right hand side to
the left hand side as a notice and to poke your untouched hand
right in without further orders, hoping to get it softened up
well so as to save her trouble in trimming it down to a size
which will suit her.
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