Читать книгу Streets of Night онлайн

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The rocking chair creaked. The clock above the desk had ticked its way to eleven fifteen. Old Crowny's phrases certainly stayed in your mind. Suppose we met mother on the trolley? No, she'd be at church. Nonsense, and these were respectable girls anyway; they wouldn't lead into temptation. A heap lot more respectable than lots of the girls you met at dances. Why don't they come?

"Gee, I bet they weren't up yet," said Cham giggling.

"What, at eleven o'clock?"

"They don't usually get up till one or two."

"I suppose being up so late every night." Fanshaw could not get his voice above a mysterious whisper. He sat in the rocking chair without moving and stared at the clock. Eleven thirty-six. The bellboy stood in front of the desk, his eyes fixed on vacancy. The bellboy grinned and drew a red hand across his slick black hair.

"Did ye think we'd passed out up there?" came a gruff girl's voice behind him, interrupted by a giggle. He smelt perfume. Then he was on his feet, blushing.

They were shaking hands with Cham. One had curly brown hair and a doll's pink organdy dress and showed her teeth, even as the grains on an ear of sweet corn, in a continual smile. The other had a thin face and tow hair and wore the same dress in blue.