in it. Madison Avenue. The inevitable brown stone that needed no "Vacancy" sign in the window to identify it. On either side, similar houses flaunted similar announcements.
A girl in a bright blue slicker ran up the stairs whistling, took a key from her pocket, and opened the door. Dot thanked her as she too passed into the house. The bright blue slicker disappeared into the gloom at the top of the green-carpeted steps. Dot stared around at the hatrack where a deserted-looking shawl drooped drearily, at the dusty rolling doors that undoubtedly concealed the inevitable business couple in the inevitable "front parlor." From behind a door at the end of the passage Dot heard voices. One voice, a woman's, was shrill and grating. Dot recoiled from the idea of looking that voice straight in the eye and asking for Mr. Collins. Still she had to know why he hadn't come. Perhaps she could find the girl who whistled and wore a bright blue slicker. Dot climbed the stairs and looked around. Five doors. All closed. No sound from anywhere. Dot tried one flight higher. This floor had six closed doors to make the situation more baffling. She leaned against the banister rail trying to decide what to do. Then all at once there was music. An orchestra abruptly burst into music, oddly enough choosing the last six bars of a popular song to begin with. Dot was momentarily amazed. Then she smiled. A radio set. Probably Eddie's set, too. She was trying to place the room from which the music came when it was discontinued as suddenly as it had started. A second later it began again, loud but not clear as before. There was a shocking distortion to it now. Silence again. Then after a time, the music once more, loud and with perfect clarity, but only for a moment or two; then in the quiet that followed, Dot heard some one walking about. The door farthest away from her opened, and Eddie rushed out like
