“Where?”
“Shut up your ranting at me!” He shook off her hand. “I guess you’ll get your three squares a day.”
Nothing more was said for several moments. Elsie lay back with her eyes closed. By the light from occasional street lamps Druce was counting a roll of bills.
“Here, kid, look at this.” He spoke with just a touch of softness and bravado. “That young guy slipped it to me. My backers got to give me a nice trip to foreign lands. There’ll be plenty of kale. I’m going to take you along, see.” He did not add that her too great knowledge of his methods made others desirous that she, too, should be far away when the trial of the dive’s employes came to pass. Elsie opened her eyes.
“I should think you would show that you feel a little bit glad that I’m out,” he whined. “Think of those days in that jail.”
Elsie would not have dared fail to express sympathy for him, but he was in need of a match for the cigarette he held. Hailing the chauffeur, he had the next instant forgotten his demand.
They drove in silence until they reached the house that had been prepared for their hiding-place. “Furnished rooms—Light Housekeeping” was inscribed on a card, tacked conspicuously in the doorway.
A woman near middle age, inclined to be fleshy, with large features that reflected the dim hall light, met them, her arms akimbo.
“Everything’s all right for you folks. Upstairs front. There’s a gas stove in the closet if you all—
“We ain’t pikers—we’ll get our eats sent in. Here, take this.” Druce put a slip of paper and a greenback into Elsie’s hand.