ingly. “I didn’t mean anything. Sure, it’s no harm to smoke, Maudy.”
“Rooney’s,” said the girl, softened at once by his amends, “is the only place I know where a lady can smoke. Maybe it ain’t a nice habit, but aunty let us at home. And my name ain’t Maudy, if you please; it’s Ruby Delamere.”
“That’s a swell handle,” said Cork approvingly. “Mine’s McManus—Cor—er—Eddie McManus.”
“Oh, you can’t help that,” laughed Ruby. “Don’t apologize.”
Cork looked seriously at the big clock on Rooney’s wall. The girl’s ubiquitous eyes took in the movement.
“I know it’s late,” she said, reaching for her bag; “but you know how you want a smoke when you want one. Ain’t Rooney’s all right? I never saw anything wrong here. This is twice I’ve been in. I work in a bookbindery on Third Avenue. A lot of us girls have been working overtime three nights a week. They won’t let you smoke there, of course. I just dropped in here on my way home for a puff. Ain’t it all right in here? If it ain’t, I won’t come any more.”
“It’s a little bit late for you to be out alone anywhere,” said Cork. “I’m not wise to this particular joint; but anyhow you don’t want to have your picture taken in it for a present to your Sunday School teacher. Have one more beer, and then say I take you home.”
