"Tough enough," he muttered gloomily, "but you was so close with your
money I had to sing low. What was the matter with you, anyhow?"

"Sweetie wouldn't produce, or couldn't, rather. He hasn't got his hands
on much of the stuff yet. Enright coughed up the expense money, or most
of it. I made John borrow some, but I needed that myself."

"Well, damn little got out here, and Lacy pumped the most of that out of
me. However, if you feel like kicking about this room, you ought to see
some of the others--mine, for instance, or the one Timmons put that other
woman in."

"Oh, yes," she said, finding a seat and staring at him. "That reminds
me. Did you say there was a girl here from New York? Never mind
quarrelling about the room, I'll endure it all right; it makes me think
of old times," and she laughed mirthlessly. "Sit down, Mr. Enright, and
let's talk. How's the door, Ned?"

He opened it and glanced out into the hall, throwing the bolt as he came
back.

"All right, Celeste, but I wouldn't talk quite so loud; the partitions
are not very tight."

"No objections to a cigarette, I suppose," and she produced a case.
"Thanks; now I feel better--certainly, light up. Well, Ned, the first
thing I want to know is, who is this other New York skirt, and how did
she happen to blow in here just at this time?"

Beaton completed the lighting of his cigar, flinging the match carelessly