“I thought you’d like it,” muttered the man.
“Like it? Like to dance?” She broke into laughter. “Say—don’t you know yet that a person’s job is never fun? It’s bread and butter for me to move my feet, not pleasure.”
She seized the glass of purplish mixture that was being placed before her and plunged the spoon, and after that her nose, into its enticing depths.
“Now, this is real joy!” she announced.
“Where you living?” Angier was already at the business of winning his bet.
The girl turned on him a cold and wary look that, as she studied his frank boyish face, softened into good fellowship.
“Over in the Tondo—a Ford-sized life in a Ford-sized room. I take my shower under an oil can, and that after I’ve gone out and fetched in the water that’s in the can. And if the water runs out before the soap’s off, I’ve got to hustle into my kimono and get some more to fill up the darned can—and then jump under it like the house was on fire, so’s the water won’t give out again. That’s comfort for you! And me used to Broadway! I tell you—give me Broadway, with the human toads staring at you! Out here, there’s nothing to stare at you except half-breed frogs. I’m not strong for half-breeds. That’s the reason I came over here when you called me—because you fellows are white.” She gave them another of her wary looks; prepared for their unbelief.
“What’s your name, kid?”
“Miss Casey—to you!” replied the girl promptly, and with emphasis on the title.
“What’s your name to the chinos?” asked the amused Angier.