“I have the greatest confidence,” had begun Framingham, “that the British will patch it up somehow.” Jimmy followed Bullock towards the bar.
Crossing the room he caught sight of Ellen. Her hair was very red in the glow from the lamp beside her. Baldwin was leaning towards her across the table with moist lips and bright eyes. Jimmy felt something glittering go off in his chest like a released spring. He turned his head away suddenly for fear she should see him.
Bullock turned and nudged him in the ribs. “Say Jimmy who the hell are those two guys came out with us?”
“They are friends of Ruth’s. I dont know them particularly well. Framingham’s an interior decorator I think.”
At the bar under a picture of the Lusitania stood a dark man in a white coat distended by a deep gorilla chest. He was vibrating a shaker between his very hairy hands. A waiter stood in front of the bar with a tray of cocktail glasses. The cocktail foamed into them greenishwhite.
“Hello Congo,” said Jimmy.
“Ah bonsoir monsieur ’Erf, ça biche?”
“Pretty good … Say Congo I want you to meet a friend of mine. This is Grant Bullock of the American.”
“Very please. You an Mr. ’Erf ave someting on the ’ouse sir.”
The waiter raised the clinking tray of glasses to shoulder height and carried them out on the flat of his hand.
“I suppose a gin fizz’ll ruin all that whiskey but I’d like one. … Drink something with us wont you Congo?” Bullock put a foot up on the brass rail and took a sip. “I was wondering,” he said slowly, “if there was any dope going round about this murder down the road.”
“Everybody ave his teyorie …”
Jimmy caught a faint wink from one of Congo’s deepset black eyes. “Do you live out here?” he asked to keep from giggling.
“In the middle of the night I hear an automobile go by very fast wid de cutout open. I tink maybe it run into someting because it stopped very quick and come back much faster, licketysplit.”
“Did you hear a shot?”
Congo shook his head mysteriously. “I ear voices, very angree voices.”
“Gosh I’m going to look into this,” said Bullock tossing off the end of his drink. “Let’s go back to the girls.”
Ellen was looking at the face wrinkled like a walnut and the dead codfish eyes of the waiter pouring coffee. Baldwin was leaning back in his chair staring at her through his eyelashes. He was talking in a low monotone:
“Cant you see that I’ll go mad if I cant have you. You are the only thing in the world I ever wanted.”
“George I dont want to be had by anybody. … Cant you understand that a woman wants some freedom? Do be a sport about it. I’ll have to go home if you talk like that.”
“Why have you kept me dangling then? I’m not the sort of man you can play like a trout. You know that perfectly well.”
She looked straight at him with wide gray eyes; the light gave a sheen of gold to the little brown specks in the iris.
“It’s not so easy never to be able to have friends.” She looked down at her fingers on the edge of the table. His eyes were on the glint of copper along her eyelashes. Suddenly he snapped the silence that was tightening between them.
“Anyway let’s dance.”
J’ai fait trois fois le tour du monde
Dans mes voyages,
hummed Congo Jake as the big shining shaker quivered between his hairy hands. The narrow greenpapered bar was swelled and warped with bubbling voices, spiral exhalations of drinks, sharp clink of ice and glasses, an occasional strain of music from the other room. Jimmy Herf stood alone in the corner sipping a gin fizz. Next him Gus McNiel was slapping Bullock on the back and roaring in his ear:
“Why if they dont close the Stock Exchange … god-amighty … before the blowup comes there’ll be an opportunity. … Well begorry dont you forget it. A panic’s the time for a man with a cool head to make money.”
“There have been some big failures already and this is just the first whiff. …”
“Opportunity knocks but once at a young man’s door. … You listen to me when there’s a big failure of one o them brokerage firms honest men can bless themselves. … But you’re not putting everythin I’m tellin ye in the paper, are you? There’s a good guy. … Most of you fellers go around puttin words in a man’s mouth. Cant trust one of you. I’ll tell you one thing though the lockout is a wonderful thing for the contractors. Wont be no housebuildin with a war on anyway.” “It wont last more’n two weeks and I dont see what it has to do with us anyway.”
“But conditions’ll be affected all over the world. … Conditions. … Hello Joey what the hell do you want?”
“I’d like to talk to you private for a minute sir. There’s some big news. …”
The bar emptied gradually. Jimmy Herf was still standing at the end against the wall.
“You never get drunk, Mr. ’Erf.” Congo Jake sat down back of the bar to drink a cup of coffee.
“I’d rather watch the other fellows.”
“Very good. No use spend a lot o money ave a eadache next day.”
“That’s no way for a barkeep to talk.”
“I say what I tink.”
“Say I’ve always wanted to ask you. … Do you mind telling me? … How did you get the name of Congo Jake?”
Congo laughed deep in his chest. “I dunno. … When I very leetle I first go to sea dey call me Congo because I have curly hair an dark like a nigger. Den when I work in America, on American ship an all zat, guy ask me How you feel Congo? and I say Jake … so dey call me Congo Jake.”
“It’s some nickname. … I thought you’d followed the sea.”
“It’s a ’ard life. …
