"And they may raise _us_ to fifteen a week," said Clara,
"though I doubt it. They'll not cut off their nose to spite
their face. If they raised the rate for the streets they'd
drive two-thirds of the girls back to the factories and sweat
shops. You're not listening, Lorna. What's up?"
"Nothing."
"Your fellow's not had a relapse?"
"No--nothing."
"Need some money? I can lend you ten. I did have twenty, but
I gave Sallie and that little Jew girl who's her side partner
ten for the bail bondsman. They got pinched last night for not
paying up to the police. They've gone crazy about that prize
fighter--at least, he thinks he is--that Joe O'Mara, and
they're giving him every cent they make. It's funny about
Sallie. She's a Catholic and goes to mass regular. And she
keeps straight on Sunday--no money'll tempt her--I've seen it
tried. Do you want the ten?"
"No. I've got plenty."
"We must look in at that Jolly Rovers' ball tonight. There'll
be a lot of fellows with money there.
"We can sure pull off something pretty good. Anyhow, we'll
have fun. But you don't care for the dances. Well, they are
a waste of time. And because the men pay for a few bum drinks
and dance with a girl, they don't want to give up anything
more. How's she to live, I want to know?"
"Would you like to get out of this, Clara?" interrupted Susan,
coming out of her absent-mindedness.
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