"Didn't he? Look! See if he didn't!"
He produced a square of pink cardboard from his waistcoat pocket and she read it, with a sudden lightness underlying her voice:
HIBERNIAN MASQUE AND HOP SUPPER WARDROBE FREE ADMIT GENT AND LADY FIFTY CENTS
"Oh, gee, Charley! And me such a sight in this old waist and all. I didn't know there was supper, too."
"Sure! Hurry, Sweetness, and we'll catch a Sixth Avenue car. We wanna get in on it while the tamales are hot."
She grasped his arm closer, and straightening her velveteen poke-bonnet so that the curls lay pat, together they wormed through the sidewalk crush; once or twice she coughed, with the hollow resonance of a chain drawn upward from a deep well.
"Gee! I bet there'll be a jam!"
"Sure! There's some live crowd down there."
They were in the street-car, swaying, swinging, clutching; hemmed in by frantic, home-going New York, nose to nose, eye to eye, tooth to tooth. Around Sara Juke's slim waist lay Charley Chubb's saving arm, and with each lurch they laughed immoderately, except when she coughed.
"Gee! ain't it the limit? It's a wonder they wouldn't open a window in this car!"