"Yeah?" There was a pause. "How's it breaking for her?"
"Um-m, very well. I thought she'd like to see you."
Bennie cocked his head, he eyed the speaker curiously, suspiciously.
"Come clean," he rumbled. "Mallow said you could use me."
"I can. I will."
The boy shrugged. "All right, Sharkey. I s'pose it'll come out, in time. Only remember, I've got twenty coming, win or lose."
"Of course" Gray waved toward the dresser, upon which was a handful of bills. "Help yourself. Better make it twenty-five. Then wait outside, please. We will join you in a few minutes."
"And don't make it thirty," Bennie's traveling companion sharply cautioned.
When the door had closed, Gray gave his friend certain instructions, after which he limped to the telephone and called Arline Montague. "May I ask you to step down to Buddy's room?" he inquired, after making himself known. "Oh, it will be quite all right—We three must have a little talk—But he couldn't see you last night. He was quite ill, really; I sat up with him most of—" There was a longer hiatus then. "Hadn't we better argue that in Buddy's presence? Thank you. In five minutes, then."
As he and Gray prepared to leave, Mallow said, sourly: "Margie is a good little dame, in her way, and I feel like a—like a damned'stool.'"
"My dear fellow," the other told him, "I understand, and I'd gladly take another beating like this one to escape this wretched denouement."