Breeze’s bashful “No, suh” was lost in noise, for Jake, who took up the nickels at the door, was yelling briskly, his words guiding the dancers into figures. “Hands ’round, all!” shifted the couples into a wide circle that had to crumple in spots because the room was too small. As it turned around every heel bumped the floor until the stamping tramp shook the cabin from pillars to roof. Once in a while Breeze could feel the big chest pressed against him shaking with laughter.
“Ladies to de center! Gentlemens surround dem!” Jake yelled it, and the ring split and went double ply. “Make a basket!” he howled. Feet shuffled and scraped the floor, as the men made a cord of long arms and tight clasped hands that slipped over the ladies’ heads. The swaying bodies were tied together tight. Sweat shone on every face. Eyes gleamed. Teeth flashed.
“How you like dat, son?” April asked, and Breeze answered, “I like em nice.”
“Wheel de basket!” Jake bawled, and the solid ring turned, slowly, evenly at first, then faster and faster until its wild whirling threw the dancers into knots of dizzy cavorters. Hot breath poured through the windows. The rank smell of over-heated sweaty bodies ran high. The house shook and creaked. Breeze could feel the strong throb of the heart in the man’s breast beating against him. Gradually the long black face leaned forward nearer to his.
“Right hand to you’ partner!” Jake cried, and hands trembling with excitement squeezed each other and held fast.
“Do de gran’ right an’ left!”
Jake dashed the sweat out of his eyes with a bare hand, as the dancers fell into two lines. A thread of ladies wound in and out between the gentlemen, whose feet kept up a frisky jumping and jigging and jerking, like drumsticks gone crazy and trying to hammer in the floor.
“Ain’ dey done dat nice!” Big Sue exclaimed.
“Dey done it mighty well,” the big man approved, his mouth close to Breeze’s ear.
When the ladies had gone clear ’round and come to their partners again, “Swing you’ own true love!” set every skirt to spinning in a giddy ring that twirled until “Sasshay, all! Croquette! Salute de lady on de right!” unwound them, let them fall limp.