“That's it,” he complained. “Don't lemme be happy for a minute! Throw it all up to me!”
“You give me that for the Rosenfeld boy, and I'll go out with you.”
“If I give you all that, I won't have any money to go out with!”
But his eyes were wavering. She could see victory.
“Take off enough for the evening.”
But he drew himself up.
“I'm no piker,” he said largely. “Whole hog or nothing. Take it.”
He held it out to her, and from another pocket produced the eighty dollars, in crushed and wrinkled notes.
“It's my lucky day,” he said thickly. “Plenty more where this came from. Do anything for you. Give it to the little devil. I—” He yawned. “God, this place is hot!”
His head dropped back on his chair; he propped his sagging legs on a stool. She knew him—knew that he would sleep almost all night. She would have to make up something to tell the other girls; but no matter—she could attend to that later.