"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.