this ain’t the man I want? What are you doing in here with him?”
“How do I know?” said the girl, flaming red and white by turns. “Because I’ve known him a year. He’s mine. Oughtn’t I to know? And what am I doin’ here with him? That’s easy.”
She stooped low and reached down somewhere into a swirl of flirted draperies, heliotrope and black. An elastic snapped, she threw on the table toward Cork a folded wad of bills. The money slowly straightened itself with little leisurely jerks.
“Take that, Jimmy, and let’s go,” said the girl, “I’m declarin’ the usual dividends, Maguire,” she said to the officer. “You had your usual five-dollar graft at the usual corner at ten.”
“A lie!” said the cop, turning purple. “You go on my beat again and I’ll arrest you every time I see you.”
“No, you won’t,” said the girl. “And I’ll tell you why. Witnesses saw me give you the money to-night, and last week, too. I’ve been getting fixed for you.”
Cork put the wad of money carefully into his pocket, and said: “Come on, Fanny; let’s have some chop suey before we go home.”
“Clear out, quick, both of you, or I’ll—”
The cop’s bluster trailed away into inconsequentiality.
At the corner of the street the two halted. Cork handed back the money without a word. The girl took
