“That was all right, too,” repeated the girl. “It didn’t make any difference.”
Cork straightened himself, and pulled his hat down low. “I could get a job at O’Brien’s,” he said aloud, but to himself.
“Good-by,” said the girl.
“Come on,” said Cork, taking her arm. “I know a place.”
Two blocks away he turned with her up the steps of a red brick house facing a little park.
“What house is this?” she asked, drawing back. “Why are you going in there?”
A street lamp shone brightly in front. There was a brass nameplate at one side of the closed front doors. Cork drew her firmly up the steps. “Read that,” said he.
She looked at the name on the plate, and gave a cry between a moan and a scream. “No, no, no, Eddie! Oh, my God, no! I won’t let you do that—not now! Let me go! You shan’t do that! You can’t—you mus’n’t! Not after you know! No, no! Come away quick! Oh, my God! Please, Eddie, come!”
Half fainting, she reeled, and was caught in the bend of his arm. Cork’s right hand felt for the electric button and pressed it long.
Another cop—how quickly they scent trouble when trouble is on the wing!—came along, saw them, and ran
