"Forget it!" she said. "Don't you worry, Max; I ain't goin' to rake things up, if that's what's souring you. Life's too short. All I want is a talk and a drink."
Half reluctantly, he let her lead him; but she could lead him and that sufficed her.
He lit an American cigarette and puffed it nervously.
"I've just been in there," she said, with a backward jerk of her head in the direction of the police-court.
"There?" Max was not surprised, but he added: "Vhat vas you doin' in there?"
"What do you think?" responded Mary. She herself was thinking rapidly—about other things.
"You vasn't in drouble?"
"I guess you would call it that."
"Pinched?"
"Yes."