steps and over the footlights. "I'm satisfied," he said. He approached Ken. "No reason why we can't look it over in the morning." He seemed fresh and energetic despite a day of hard work. 'Tm giving the chorus an extra hour's sleep tomorrow. They're tired out."
"You do work them hard, don't you?" Ken commented.
"Think so?" Monroe smiled. "Never too hard. I've an idea. We'll go up to my place, have a bite, talk, and you can sleep in the spare room."
"Thanks," said Ken. "I'd love to. But I made a date with Carter."
"Carter?" Monroe looked surprised. "That lush?"
"Why, what's—"
"Keep away from Carter. He drinks his head off. A bad boy. No refinement. Treats his wife brutally. If you're to be someone on the Street, stick to your own kind." He emphasized the last phrase. Ken was startled. He looked squarely at Monroe, who smiled, tapped the bamboo cane against his trouser cuff. "Well?"
"I'm sorry," said Ken. "I promised him I'd go out with him."
"We're calling on Luisa Pagano. She lives with some dame nearby. We'll have a drink or two across the street to get in the right mood. Then we'll buy them some shoes with round heels and watch 'em fa' down."
"I don't drink," Ken said. "I told you that this afternoon."
He stood at the bar while Carter swallowed a whiskey. A few minutes later they hurried across Broadway, down a side street to an old red-brick apartment building, the interior of which was remarkable for a stair well which
