In order for Pearl to hustle on the Mexican side of the border in the City of Juarez, it was absolutely necessary that she have a written permit from the Chief of Police, or any official whom she happened to please in the usual way that a girl of her ilk had to please one, when there wasn't enough money in the pocket to buy the permit. Consequently, Pearl found out later she could have had a permit from the most lowly Immigration official to the Mayor himself, but in the midst of her efforts to please, the Chief of Police seemed to be the one who was affected quickest in her efforts to--please--. Hence the permit. Juarez, Mexico, chief port of entry to Mexico, population of forty thousand souls, mostly lost ones, separated from the United States by the Rio Grande River, if it may have the luck to be called a river, which at no time is deep enough to wet the crucial spot of one's anatomy, in case one has to run through it owing to lack of time to make the bridge, which has often been the case. "Well, this is a night for celebration," thought Pearl, as she left her hotel to walk down to the corner of Stanton Street, to catch the Juarez car. The car was filled from door to door with old Mexican women, wrapped in black shawls, which would have been black with dirt had they been originally any other color, and loaded down with topping bags filled with the bare necessities that their own Immigration was kind enough to let them bring in, and anything else that they might hide under the numerous dirty underskirts they might happen to have on. The car clanged, and slowly started its noisy journey toward the Stanton Street Bridge, at which it stopped from three to five minutes, for the Mexican Immigration and Customs Officials to go through the car and make a pretense at examining everything that was being brought into Mexico, as if anything on the face of God's green earth that was brought into Mexico could hurt it. "I wonder where I'll get off, now that I'm over here," thought Pearl, as the car left the bridge to ramble on its way on into the heart of Juarez, which is the sixteenth of September St. "I know," she thought, "I'll get off at the Tivoli, where all the gambling is, and see if I have any luck there."