 Would Orison be able to go out until midnight?
"That will be most satisfactory, Mr. Wanji," Orison said. The uniformed operator nodded to Mr. Wanji, bowed slightly to Orison. Orison switched off her microphone at noon, marked her place in the book and took the elevator down to the ground floor. As though they were members of a ballet-troupe, these gentlemen whipped off their hats with a single motion as Orison stepped aboard the elevator. Orison sighed, finished her tuna salad on whole-wheat, then went back upstairs to her lonely desk and her microphone. What I need, Orison thought, walking rapidly to the busline, is a double Scotch, followed by a double Scotch. Orison stopped in at the restaurant nearest her apartment house—the Windsor Arms—and ordered a meal and a single Martini. Orison slipped between the sheets at eleven-thirty. Orison lay down cautiously. Orison transferred her head to the pillow to her left. Shall we establish our rendezvous here at eleven-fifteen, Central Standard Time, every day?" Orison briefed her pillow on the Earmuffs, on her task of reading to a microphone, and on the generally mimsy tone of the William Howard Taft National Bank and Trust Company. Orison flung the shoe and the pillow under her bed, and resolved to write Washington for permission to make her future reports by registered mail. At ten o'clock the next morning, reading page four of the current Wall Street Journal , Orison was interrupted by the click of a pair of leather heels.
 No - she needed to be in her bed before then
 No - she needed to be in her bed before then  No - she works too early in the morning to be out so late  Yes - she has no curfew  Yes - Mr. Gerding will probably take her dancing far later