Write the right answer to the question based on the context passage.

Q: Shortly after five, the hospital called. More precisely, the emergency room phoned to ask if Ray had a bed. Ray pretended to consult his admission log, just as he always did. The nightly hospital call meant one of three things: the chemical dependency floor was full (highly unlikely), the individual in question had fallen under the hospital's "one treatment episode every three months" sanction (also known as the Black List, and only moderately unlikely), or the prospective client had no insurance (in Ray's experience, very likely).
The folks at the hospital knew, as did Ray, that federal law prohibited him from turning away individuals requesting detoxification services if he had an open bed. The hospital was generous enough to spring for a cab voucher for the intoxicate.
In Ray's experience as well, overnight admissions were less interested in detox than in free food, a free bed and complimentary meds. For his two hour paperwork investment and aggravation, he would receive the benefit of knowing the client slept until noon then slipped out the side door and into another binge. Any bills for service generated for the brief stay would return in a week or so stamped "No Such Address" or simply "Return to Sender". On average, the clients of addictions services managed to muster a raging 25% of them who would ever pay a dime toward their bill. The night shift admission payment percentages were a quarter of that quarter in good years.
Thus, the frequent calls from the hospital. They had little better luck in getting good addresses (or even with those, a client who stayed sober long enough to give a shit).
No one relished treating the uninsured and uninsurable. It was fiscal suicide. The hospital was perfectly willing to let the local experts in deadbeats handle the workload.
Tonight, Ray could tell them no. He liked telling them no, especially when it was the truth. Question: Who checked the admissions log?

A: Ray
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Q: September 2006, and deep in the bowels of the Adam Street private members' club in London a very special group of people is crammed into a private room, supping imported Spanish beer from a free bar.
The value - on paper at least - of the companies owned by those squeezed into this tiny, boiling space would dwarf the debt of a small African nation. Among those present are some of the key players in Europe's Internet industry. The content creators, the entrepreneurs, the inventors, the investors; these are the new media moguls. And tonight they're in their element.
I'm hiding at the back of the room getting slowly drunk with the event's organiser, an entrepreneur who helped raise a ridiculous sum of money for a business networking site that had projected revenues of precisely zero. His mantra, he tells me, is 'revenue is the enemy'. It's not clear what that means, but I have to admit it sounds great.
A microphone is being passed around and we're watching and listening as a succession of young - mostly under forty - men - they're mostly men - rattle off their CVs and their future plans.
'He,' whispers my drinking buddy, pointing the neck of his beer bottle at a short, well-groomed man wearing a yellow checked jacket and bright red trousers, 'was in the FT yesterday. Apparently BT are going to buy the company he co-founded for half a billion dollars.'
'Fuck,' I half-whisper back. One habit you soon pick up, hanging out with dot com entrepreneurs, is swearing. 'That's a terrible fit. It's like Friends Reunited* all over again. What the hell are BT going to do with them?'
'Nothing.'
'Nothing?'
'No, the story's bullshit. Totally made up. And they fucking printed it. '
'Fuck.'
'Of course they printed it. They called the investors to check it out, but they refused to comment. So they ran it as a "rumour". And why not? It wouldn't exactly be the most outrageous deal of the year, would it?'
He has a point. Question: Who tells the narrator that "revenue is the enemy"?

A: An entrepreneur.
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Q: Macy Golong peeked into Mallie Mae's room and was not surprised to see her sleeping. Elmo's mother rarely stayed up past 10:00 PM, and it was nearly 11:00. She closed the door and started to go back to her room across the hall. She was halfway through a romance novel. But Hadley's delicious oatmeal raisin cookies were calling to her.
She walked down the stairs to the kitchen and put a few cookies on a plate. Then she poured a glass of milk. She wondered what Elmo was doing. Was he in the Media Room with Carsie? Their Media Room? Before Elmo and Carsie got together, Elmo and Macy used to spend hours almost every night in that room. Some nights he had almost kissed her.
She left her milk and cookies on the kitchen counter and went down another flight of stairs, which came out in the Recreation Room. Macy could hear the sound of the TV coming from Media Room. She tiptoed to the open doorway and peeked in. There she was--that conniving slut--sitting where Macy should have been. How could Elmo have replaced her like that? She thought he had been falling in love with her. How could she have been so wrong? But it could still happen--if that woman would just go away.
Elmo said, "Yeah. So, beginning Monday there will be two doctors in the office. That should take a little pressure off. If I need to be out for a day or two, Dr. Edwards can fill in for me."
"Yeah, or if you need to take off a week for a trip to Hawaii with your beautiful new wife." Carsie gave him a sexy smile.
"That's right. Dr. Ernie will take care of everything while I'm gone."
"Dr. Ernie?"
"Yeah. I asked if he would mind being called 'Dr. Ernie'. His name is Ernest, but I thought 'Dr. Ernie' would fit in well with the Sesame Street theme of my office."
"So the two of you are Drs. Elmo and Ernie?"
"Yep." Question: Who rarely stayed up past 10:00 pm?

A:
Elmo's Mother
****
