a sudden scream. She sat bolt upright in bed, and pulled a revolver out from under the coverings. "Youse don't bring no doctor here! See! Youse put a finger on dat door, an' it won't be de door youse'll go out by!"
Rhoda Gray did not move.
"Nan, put that revolver down!" she ordered quietly. "You don't know what you are doing."
"Don't I?" leered Gypsy Nan. The revolver held, swaying a little unsteadily, on Rhoda Gray. There was silence for a moment; then Gypsy Nan spoke again, evidently through dry lips, for she wet them again and again with her tongue: "Say, youse are de White Moll, ain't youse?"
"Yes," said Rhoda Gray.
Gypsy Nan appeared to ponder this for an instant.
"Well den, come back here an' sit down on de foot of de bed," she commanded finally.
Rhoda Gray obeyed without hesitation. There was nothing to do but humor the woman in her present state, a state that seemed one bordering on delirium and complete collapse.
"Nan," she said, "you"
"De White Moll!" mumbled Gypsy Nan. "I wonder if de dope dey hands out about youse is all on de level? My Gawd, I wonder if wot dey says is true?"
"What do they say?" asked Rhoda Gray gently.
Gypsy Nan lay back on her pillow as though her strength, over-taxed, had failed her; her hand, though it still clutched the revolver, seemed to have been dragged down by the weapon's weight, and now rested upon the blanket.
"Dey say," said Gypsy Nan slowly, "dat youse knows more on de inside here dan anybody else—
