house and on the porch in time to see Gowan slam into the wall and slump along it and plunge full length off the porch into the weeds, and Popeye in the door, his head thrust forward. “Grab him there!” Goodwin said. Tommy sprang upon Popeye in a sidling rush.
“I got—hah!” he said as Popeye slashed savagely at his face; “you would, would you? Hole up hyer.”
Popeye ceased. “Jesus Christ. You let them sit around here all night, swilling that goddam stuff; I told you. Jesus Christ.”
Goodwin and Van were a single shadow, locked and hushed and furious. “Let go!” Van shouted. “I’ll kill—” Tommy sprang to them. They jammed Van against the wall and held him motionless.
“Got him?” Goodwin said.
“Yeuh. I got him. Hole up hyer. You done whupped him.”
“By God, I’ll—”
“Now, now; whut you want to kill him fer? You caint eat him, kin you? You want Mr Popeye to start guttin us all with that ere artermatic?”
Then it was over, gone like a furious gust of black wind, leaving a peaceful vacuum in which they moved quietly about, lifting Gowan out of the weeds with low-spoken, amicable directions to one another. They carried him into the hall, where the woman stood, and to the door of the room where Temple was.
“She’s locked it,” Van said. He struck the door, high. “Open the door,” he shouted. “We’re bringing you a customer.”
“Hush,” Goodwin said. “There’s no lock on it. Push it.”
“Sure,” Van said; “I’ll push it.” He kicked it. The chair buckled and sprang into the room. Van banged the door open and they entered, carrying Gowan’s legs. Van kicked the chair across the room. Then he saw Temple standing in the corner behind the bed. His hair was broken about his face, long as a girl’s. He flung it back with a toss of his head. His chin was bloody and he deliberately spat blood onto the floor.
“Go on,” Goodwin said, carrying Gowan’s shoulders, “put him on the bed.” They swung Gowan onto the bed. His bloody head lolled over the edge. Van jerked him over and slammed him into the mattress. He groaned, lifting his hand. Van struck him across the face with his palm.
“Lie still, you—”
“Let be,” Goodwin said. He caught Van’s hand. For an instant they glared at one another.
“I said, Let be,” Goodwin said. “Get out of here.”
“Got proteck.……” Gowan muttered “.…girl. ’Ginia gem.……gemman got proteck.……”
“Get out of here, now,” Goodwin said.
The woman stood in the door beside Tommy, her back against the door frame. Beneath a cheap coat her nightdress dropped to her feet.
Van lifted Temple’s dress from the bed. “Van,” Goodwin said. “I said get out.”
“I heard you,” Van said. He shook the dress out. Then he looked at Temple in the corner, her arms crossed, her hands clutching her shoulders. Goodwin moved toward Van. He dropped the dress and went around the bed. Popeye came in the door, a cigarette in his fingers. Beside the woman Tommy drew his breath hissing through his ragged teeth.
He saw Van take hold of the raincoat upon Temple’s breast and rip it open. Then Goodwin sprang between them; he saw Van duck, whirling, and Temple fumbling at the torn raincoat. Van and Goodwin were now in the middle of the floor, swinging at one another, then he was watching Popeye walking toward Temple. With the corner of his eye he saw Van lying on the floor and Goodwin standing over him, stooped a little, watching Popeye’s back.
“Popeye,” Goodwin said. Popeye went on, the cigarette trailing back over his shoulder, his head turned a little as though he were not looking where he was going, the cigarette slanted as though his mouth were somewhere under the turn of his jaw. “Dont touch her,” Goodwin said.
Popeye stopped before Temple, his face turned a little aside. His right hand lay in his coat pocket. Beneath the raincoat on Temple’s breast Tommy could see the movement of the other hand, communicating a shadow of movement to the coat.
“Take your hand away,” Goodwin said. “Move it.”
Popeye moved his hand. He turned, his hands in his coat pockets, looking at Goodwin. He crossed the room, watching Goodwin. Then he turned his back on him and went out the door.
“Here, Tommy,” Goodwin said quietly, “grab hold of this.” They lifted Van and carried him out. The woman stepped aside. She leaned against the wall, holding her coat together. Across the room Temple stood crouched into the corner, fumbling at the torn raincoat. Gowan began to snore.
Goodwin returned. “You’d better go back to bed,” he said. The woman didn’t move. He put his hand on her shoulder. “Ruby.”
“While you finish the trick Van started and you wouldn’t let him finish? You poor fool. You poor fool.”
“Come on, now,” he said, his hand on her shoulder. “Go back to bed.”
“But dont come back. Dont bother to come back. I wont be there. You owe me nothing. Dont think you do.”
Goodwin took her wrists and drew them steadily apart. Slowly and steadily he carried her hands around behind her and held them in one of his. With the other hand he opened the coat. The nightdress was of faded pink crepe, lace-trimmed, laundered and laundered until, like the garment on the wire, the lace was a fibrous mass.
“Hah,” he said. “Dressed for company.”
“Whose fault is it if this is the only one I have? Whose fault is it? Not mine. I’ve given them away to nigger
