High Time Read Online Free

Besides, I kinda like to play the field, myself. Seems like in this business I meet so many nice-looking fellows, and I get kinda sentimental thinking about them being shot at and killed, and I suppose I just listen to them a little too much!’ Darleen stirred her limeade and looked dreamy.
    No one spoke for a while. Then Mrs. Feeley asked:
    ‘This here Johnny: don’t you think about him gettin’ shot at none?’
    ‘Oh, sure! He’s been torpedoed three times already! He was bringing me a silver fox fur from Russia and it was lost with the ship. It was just as well, though, like I was telling him, one isn’t stylish any more. They wear a pair now!’
    ‘Does he know you got other fellers?’ Mrs. Rasmussen asked.
    ‘Yes, he knows. I told him all about me. It’s like this, see: when he’s here I’m strictly true to him. Only he isn’t here much.’ That seemed to settle the issue pretty definitely.
    Miss Tinkham was reminded of a Biblical lady who was forgiven much. The ladies looked at each other and wonder was written on their faces: Darleen had apparently never got the word about right and wrong.
    ‘Well,’ Mrs. Feeley said at last, ‘I guess it’s all in how you look at it.’
    ‘Yeah.’ Mrs. Rasmussen was in a brown study. ‘Times has changed! But you sure couldn’t do it in the old country!’
    ‘The inferiority complex manifests itself in many forms,’ Miss Tinkham remarked to no one in particular.
    Mrs. Feeley lifted her glass to that sentiment, even if she didn’t know what it meant.
    ‘You know what?’ Darleen said suddenly. ‘I’m hungry.’
    ‘Y’are?’ Mrs. Rasmussen queried. ‘Well, this ain’t no place to eat,’ Mrs. Feeley said. ‘Get the hog cholera eatin’ in a pig-sty like this.’
    ‘It isn’t at all appetizing, is it?’ Miss Tinkham agreed.
    ‘It’s two o’clock now—an’ them brats comin’ in the momin’! What say we take her home with us an’ scrapes her up a bite?’
    They thought it was a fine idea—hadn’t realized how hungry they all were.
    Darleen went over to the cashier, turned in the checks from the drinks that had been bought for her during the evening, and counted her dance-ticket stubs for her percentage on the evening’s work. She pulled out a small notebook from a white leatherette bag shaped like a toy drum; in this notebook the cashier recorded the figures and initialed them.
    ‘Okay! We can go now,’ Darleen said to the ladies, who were standing by watching the transaction with interest.
    After a five-minute walk Noah’s Ark hove into view, the beer-can wall shimmering like gold in the moonlight.
    ‘This is where we lives at!’ Mrs. Feeley said.
    Miss Tinkham recited:
     
    ‘Who enters through this friendly gate,
    Comes never too early nor stays too late!’
     
    ‘It ain’t always nasty-neat, but it’s a grand house for eatin’!’ Mrs. Rasmussen put in.
    ‘Gee! It’s sure swell, isn’t it?’ Darleen was awe-struck by the rose-velvet draperies that formed the private rooms of the ladies. ‘Sure cozy, isn’t it?’
    ‘Neat but not gaudy!’ Miss Tinkham agreed.
    Darleen strolled over to the piano and began to beat out, ‘I Love Coffee, I Love Tea,’ with one finger. Mrs. Feeley and Mrs. Rasmussen looked at each other and their faces suddenly looked as if they had just bitten into a piece of overripe fish.
    ‘Look, dear!’ Mrs. Feeley said. ‘What would you want to drink? On account o’ we see you don’t drink no beer! Mrs. Rasmussen’ll fix whatever you want, but get away from that pie-anna an’ let somebody play that can!’
    Darleen realized she had rushed in where angels fear to tread.
    ‘Oh, coffee! I just love coffee! Isn’t it swell that we don’t have to have no stamps no more?’
    ‘Yeah. How you want it, weak or strong?’ Mrs. Rasmussen demanded.
    ‘Strong! Strong and black!’ Darleen said.
    Mrs. Rasmussen nodded approvingly. Even if Darleen did drink limeade in preference to beer, she had sense