"No, but I knew it was going to. It happened tonight."
"Yes, it happened tonight. And," said Dot, finding Edna's eyes in the glare of an are light, "I'm glad."
"Who you arguing with, Dottie? Who you trying to convince? I don't care a row of pins that you signed over all you have to Eddie Collins. All I'm asking is, will you sleep at my house tonight?"
Dot picked up her valise, and together they walked down Willis Avenue. Silently they marched past the dairies and lingerie shops, past butchers and milliners, grocers and hardware. At the crosstown tracks they paused for a moment to let a weary trolley take itself westward. It passed them, uttering a strange, weird noise peculiar to trolleys on damp nights.
Across the street the lights of Beck's bakery blinked affably.
"Let's get coffee and peach pie," said Edna.
Dot wordlessly followed her into the shop.
"Good evening, Mrs. Driggs," said the baker. "How's the little fellow?"
"Oh, he's fine," said Edna, "fresh as ever."
"Well, just like the rain tonight, you gotta take the bad with the good." Curious indeed is the hankering of the uptown tradesman to strew the path of his customer with gems of philosophical wisdom.
Dot was already seated in the back at one of the tables. She had unbuttoned her coat and was gnawing thoughtfully at a thumb nail.
"Say?" she asked when Edna had joined her. "Why did you seem to be on Jim's side up in the house?"
"Gee, you Haleys are dumb. I wanted you to get your clothes."
Dot smiled apologetically. "I thought sure you'd left me flat, Edna. I might have known that you wouldn't. Gosh, what'll Jim say to you when he finds out that you and me
