over it. Hubert remembered Carl Feldman just then and frowned. No use in worrying about Carl. That guy was making plenty of jack. Besides, Carl knew that a fellow like Hubert Scott wasn't going to rook him for a lousy hundred bucks.
He was two doors away from his apartment before he remembered that he had no plausible story to tell Lillian that would explain the presence of this twenty-five dollars. She'd never believe that he had just walked out and found it lying on the street. Not even if he went over to Woolworth's and bought a little purse to put it in. No, that story would seem a little far-fetched, he was afraid. Gee, he hated to be lying to Lillian all the time, but there was no use of her worrying about debts. He'd tell her everything when he got a job. He'd even tell her about Theresa then. But now let's see—he had only been gone about fifteen minutes; so she'd know that the money had come from somewhere in the neighborhood. That made it bad. Maybe he ought to get the car and ride around for an hour. But she saw him now. Damn it. There she was up at the window. He smiled at her and entered the house. Now who in the devil could he have met? Billy? What was the use of giving Billy credit for having returned a loan? Cliff? The same went for Cliff.
He walked upstairs. Lillian had opened the door and was standing there waiting for him.
"Gee," she said, "it's roasting in here tonight."
"Yeh, it's pretty hot. Anyhow you can put one worry off your mind. We'll have twenty-five dollars this evening and we can pay the gas bill."
