dam. Her voice was
quivering with fright. She did not dare believe the girl; she
did not dare disbelieve her.

"Zeist's? What's that?" said Susan indifferently.

"The joint two blocks down. Hasn't Joe Bishop had you in there
for a couple of months?"

Susan yawned. "Lord, how my head does ache! Who's Joe Bishop?
I'm dead to the world. I must have had an awful jag!" She
turned on her side, drew the spread over her. "I want to
sleep. So long!"

"Didn't you run away from home with Joe Bishop?" demanded the
madam shrilly. "And didn't he put you to work for Zeist?"

"Who's Joe Bishop? Where's Zeist's?" Susan said, cross and yawning.

"I've been with Jim about a year. He took me off the street.
I was broke in five years ago."

The madam gave a kind of howl. "And that Joe Bishop got
twenty-five off me!" she screamed. "And you're Finnegan's
girl, and he'll make trouble for me."

"He's got a nasty streak in him," said Susan, drowsily. "He
put me on the Island once for a little side trip I made." She
laughed, yawned. "But he sent and got me out in two days--and
gave me a present of a hundred. It's funny how a man'll make
a fool of himself about a woman. Put out the light."

"No, I won't put out the light," shrieked the madam. "You
can't work here. I'm going to telephone Jim Finnegan to come
and get you."

Susan started up angrily, as if she were half-crazed by drink.
"If you do, you old hag," she cried, "I'll tell him you doped
me and set these men on me. I'll tell him about Joe Bishop.
And Jim'll send the whole bunch of you to the pen. I'll not go
back to him till I get good and ready. And that means, I won't
go back at all, no matter what he offers me." She began to cry
in a maudlin way. "I hate him. I'm tired of living as if I
was back in the convent."

The madam stood, heaving to and fro and blowing like a chained
elephant. "I don't know what to do," she whined. "I wish Joe
Bishop was in hell."

"I'm going to get out of here," shrieked Susan, raving and
blazing again and waving her arms. "You don't know a good
thing when you get it. What kind of a bum joint is this,
anyway? Where's my clothes? They must be dry by this time."

"Yes--yes--they're dry, my dear," whined the madam. "I'll
bring 'em to you."

And out she waddled, returning in a moment with her arms full
of the clothing. She found Susan in the bed and nestling
comfortably into the pillows. "Here are your clot