"Come up."
He was soundly asleep by the time she opened the unlatched door. She tiptoed to the bed. He re-awakened slowly.
"I'm sorry," she said. She was colorful, dark eyes, slim face, alert, young. "Don't you remember me?"
"Never saw you before," he said. He sat up in bed.
She perched on the chair-arm. Quickly she sketched his adventures of the night. Harry Hayes had taken him home and put him to bed, while she had waited in the hotel lobby.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Never mind now. I can hardly recognize you in your pajamas. Do you know it's four o'clock in the afternoon?"
"I usually get up at five. I seem to remember you now. Was I shocking?"
"What good is a bare man in an elevator? I was shocked, though, to hear you call yourself names. You hated yourself last night. Why?"
"I'm in the gutter," he said simply.
"In what?"
"The gutter. I love gutters. To roll in. You can't fall off them. You're down."
"I judged you were lower than a worm's knee. Well—that was last night. This is today and you've had no breakfast. Shall I order some for you?"
"Shall you what?"
"Try eating instead of drinking. And stay home. You can put on a dressing gown if you don't feel like resting in bed."
"But I—"
