 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. "Here's where you'll do your nine-to-five, honey," Mr. Wanji said. By lunchtime Orison had finished the Wall Street Journal and had begun reading a book an earmuffed page had brought her. 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 nodded bemused acknowledgment of their gesture, and got off in the lobby vowing never to put a penny into this curiousest of banks. Orison sighed, finished her tuna salad on whole-wheat, then went back upstairs to her lonely desk and her microphone. By five, Orison had finished the book, reading rapidly and becoming despite herself engrossed in the saga of Bilbo Baggins, Hobbit. 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. Home in her apartment, Orison set the notes of her first day's observations in order. Orison slipped between the sheets at eleven-thirty. Orison lay down cautiously. Orison transferred her head to the pillow to her left. "Of a sort," Monitor J-12 agreed. 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. "It's nothing," Orison said, switching off the microphone. "Reading papers and fairy-tales into this microphone is nothing any reasonably astute sixth-grader couldn't do as well," Orison said. "I'd love to," Orison said, half expecting an orchestra to march, playing, from the elevator.
 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