Pearl was still sleeping.
"It's that damn phone," growled Mickey, as she stumbled to it. "Who the Hell could be calling at this time of night—or day? Hello—what do you want? What? Oh, it's you, Tony—what's up? Oh, yeah, have they been able to trace the car, do you think? Do you think they will trace you? Thanks, Tony, I'll see you later," as she hung up.
"What's up," yelled Evelyn, from the bed.
"Well, for one thing, there's headlines in the papers about the shooting last night, and Tony said the police were down there this morning, and questioned everybody on the place, and the boss lied and said that Tony hadn't left the place between twelve and six this morning. He says he don't know if they suspect him or not, and the police said there was only one woman in the car—so they must be all balled up—what do you think?"
"What's all the trouble, and what time is it?" said Pearl, as she raised up in bed.
"It was Tony called," answered Evelyn. "What time is it, Mickey, or is your time-piece working?"
"It's one-thirty," called Mickey from the kitchen.
"Oh, good Heavens, I must get to the room, I don't even remember what time I had the date with Big Boy."
"It don't matter what time you had the date with him—he'll wait if you are late," from Evelyn, as she climbed slowly out of bed. "Oh, my, I'll never be the same. I'm so stiff I can hardly stand up."
"You spent all of last night getting that way," said Mickey.