"Come in," someone called, and he knew the voice belonged to one of his race. He had many times thought it strange, but it was always easy to determine the Negro by his voice alone.
He entered, and looked at the owner of that same voice. She was a stout, brown-skinned woman; and there was another also, but she was black. One, the large woman, was the cook, for she worked over the stove, while the other was obviously the washer-woman, for she was ironing.
In his talk, he told the story of the book, and filled them with enthusiasm, to a point that both subscribed. He said he was just commencing, and was glad they had favored him with an order. He thanked them again, and, turning, he left and betook himself across the street, where he encountered another brown-skinned woman, but she failed to buy. And the excuse she gave for not doing so, was one he always regarded. She was not able—having other irons in the fire. He left her, went across the street on another corner, and entered the rear of the smallest house he saw on the street. He was turning to go, when another brown-skinned woman put in her appearance. She was beautiful, he thought. And she could smile until he—well, she smiled. She said she'd take one, to be sure, so he wrote down her name, and asked her about herself. She was married, and laughed tantalizingly, though he had not asked her that. He left presently, by the way he had entered, and went to another house, and still to another, until the watch said five; then he betook himself to a car line. It was not the one he had come out on, and soon he saw other homes, which showed the creole element.
That night he went rambling; he couldn't seem to be still. There was so much to be seen, and it had a peculiar fascination for him. He went in the direction he had gone the night before, and met crowds of people. He strolled until gay music arrested his attention. About an electric entrance, from which the music came, stood colored men. He got a peep inside, as some one entered, and saw that the occupants were Negroes, so he entered.
A waiter showed him a seat by a table. Around the room were plenty of others; there were women and men, and others came and went all the time. The music had ceased when he entered; but, 'ere long, it struck up, and the room was filled with the strains. Couples arose and stood face to face, and did what he had never seen, as he recalled. The music played was a two-step; but they did not two-step—at least not the way he had done it years before. They made only one step where he had made two. Across the table from where he sat, a girl smiled upon him invitingly, as much as to say: "Let's dance!" He was tempted, and then he recalled that they had begun this dance since he had quit some years before. So he kept his seat, and she smiled upon another. He escorted her, and they joined the dancers. A hesitation, they called it, and he was positive he would—could never learn it.
Presently the music stopped, and the couple returned to their seat.
"I know you are going to buy me a little drink," she said, whereupon the man said "nix" and left. She glared after him, and called him "cheap."
Wyeth was glad now he had kept his seat. He didn't like bold women, even in a cabaret, and this was the first one he had ever entered.
It was a place for amusements, he soon saw, for, between dances came songs by many girls and a man or two, while clever dancing and "ballin' the jack" was a feature; and it attracted to the performers many nickels, that they did not hesitate to pick up 'ere they had fallen, and "balled" again and again, until it seemed their legs must sure be tired; but you see, they were accustomed to that.
"Some town," he said to himself, when he took his leave. "A good place to forget, to live?" Well, it seemed that way.