dawn. Her hair did need attention, but she could let that go. If anything came up about it she could always say that she was letting it grow.
Lillian bought a bottle of gin for two dollars, a dozen lemons, and a bottle of fruit juice. She went to the delicatessen store then and ordered a dozen sandwiches—ham and cheese combinations—to be sent over at eleven o'clock.
Less than thirty dollars had been spent and she had redeemed herself for running about Dyckman Street hatless with run-down heels.
It was thrilling, too, to be having company again. She could see no reason why she had abruptly broken with the Sullivans and the Fishers. That had been a fool trick. It hadn't been fun to sit night after night in the little apartment playing innumerable games of checkers and quarreling with Hubert to vary the monotony. This was the time when she needed Billy's wisecracks and the others' endless talk. It had been stupid to be ashamed of being broke. It was only temporary anyway. It would be good to have the Sullivans and the Fishers around her again.
They came at nine o'clock. The girls had changed their dresses since the afternoon. Lillian was glad that she was looking well. The men eyed the apartment and sat down. They did not seem to know that this was the same couch upon which they had sat so many times before. They had also slept on it, spilled drinks on it, and burned holes in it, but now they sat stiffly on it and close to the edge.
Lillian was excessively gay. She took their hats and
