Come in and have a bite." "Can't.

Got company." And up they went, the aroma following.
A young woman in a sky-blue peignoir scuttled across the next landing, carrying a bottle of beer in each hand.

There was a smell of onions and hot cheese.

"What ho, Tootles," she said.
"What ho, Irene.

Is it true they've put your notice up ?" "Yep, the dirty dogs! Twelve weeks' rehearsals and eight nights' playing! Me for the novelties at Gimbel's, if this goes on." A phonograph in another room ground out an air from "Boheme." They mounted again.