"
"For God's sake!" wailed the madam. "I can't let you work
here. You don't want to ruin me, do you?"
Susan sat up, rubbed her eyes, yawned, brushed her hair back, put
a sly, smiling look into her face. "How much'll you give me to
go?" she asked. "Where's the fifteen that was in my stocking?"
"I've got it for you," said the madam.
"How much did I make tonight?"
"There was three at five apiece."
Three!--not only the two, but a third while she lay in a dead
stupor. Susan shivered.
"Your share's four dollars," continued the madam.
"Is that all!" cried Susan, jeering. "A bum joint! Oh,
there's my five the man gave me as a present."
"Yes--yes," quavered the madam.
"And another man gave me a dollar." She looked round. "Where
the devil is it?" She found it in a fold of the spread. "Then
you owe me twenty altogether, counting the money I had on me."
She yawned. "I don't want to go!" she protested, pausing
halfway in taking off the second pink stocking. Then she
laughed. "Lord, what hell Jim will raise if he finds I spent
the night working in this house. Why is it that, as soon as
men begin to care for a woman, they get prim about her?"
"Do get dressed, dear," wheedled the madam.
"I don't see why I should go at this time of night," objected
Susan pettishly. "What'll you give me if I go?"
The madam uttered a groan.
"You say you paid Joe Bishop twenty-five----"
"I'll kill him!" shrieked the madam.
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