“You let me hear of anybody else, and I'll cut the guts out of him!” He held her for a second, his face black and fierce. Then, slowly and inevitably, he drew her into his arms. He was drunk, and she knew it. But, in the queer loyalty of her class, he was the only man she had cared for. She cared now. She took him for that moment, felt his hot kisses on her mouth, her throat, submitted while his rather brutal hands bruised her arms in fierce caresses. Then she put him from her resolutely. “Now you're going.” “The hell I'm going!” But he was less steady than he had been. The heat of the little flat brought more blood to his head. He wavered as he stood just inside the door. “You must go back to your wife.” “She doesn't want me. She's in love with a fellow at the house.” “Palmer, hush!” “Lemme come in and sit down, won't you?” She let him pass her into the sitting-room. He dropped into a chair. “You've turned me down, and now Christine--she thinks I don't know. I'm no fool; I see a lot of things. I'm no good. I know that I've made her miserable. But I made a merry little hell for you too, and you don't kick about it.” “You know that.” She was watching him gravely. She had never seen him just like this. Nothing else, perhaps, could have shown her so well what a broken reed he was. “I got you in wrong. You were a good girl before I knew you. You're a good girl now. I'm not going to do you any harm, I swear it. I only wanted to take you out for a good time. I've got money. Look here!” He drew out the roll of bills and showed it to her. Her eyes opened wide. She had never known him to have much money. “Lots more where that comes from.” A new look flashed into her eyes, not cupidity, but purpose. She was instantly cunning. “Aren't you going to give me some of that?” “What for?” “I--I want some clothes.” The very drunk have the intuition sometimes of savages or brute beasts. “You lie.” “I want it for Johnny Rosenfeld.” He thrust it back into his pocket, but his hand retained its grasp of it. “That's it,” he complained. “Don't lemme be happy for a minute! Throw it all up to me!” “You give me that for the Rosenfeld boy, and I'll go out with you.” “If I give you all that, I won't have any money to go out with!” But his eyes were wavering. She could see victory. “Take off enough for the evening.” But he drew himself up. “I'm no piker,” he said largely. “Whole hog or nothing. Take it.” He held it out to her, and from another pocket produced the eighty dollars, in crushed and wrinkled notes. “It's my lucky day,” he said thickly. “Plenty more where this came from. Do anything for you. Give it to the little devil. I--” He yawned. “God, this place is hot!” His head dropped back on his chair; he propped his sagging legs on a stool. She knew him--knew that he would sleep almost all night. She would have to make up something to tell the other girls; but no matter--she could attend to that later.