“ ’Scuse me, buddy, I thought you said you was American. I didn’t know you come from them Wesht Indies country. Put you’ coat on. You and me and Ginger and Malty am just like we come from the same home town. We ain’t nevah agwine to fight against one another.”
“But you’ friend there, he’s West Indian, too.” The little wiry belligerent Bugsy was cooling down as quickly as he had warmed up.
Banjo waved his hand deprecatingly: “He ain’t in that class. You know that.”
In the Bum Square they met Latnah and Malty. From the Indian steward of a ship from Bombay, Latnah had gotten a little bag of curry powder and a great choice chunk of mutton, and she was preparing to make a feast.
“Hi, but everything is setting jest as pretty as pretty could be!” cried Banjo. “I been thinking about you, Latnah.”
“Me too think,” said Latnah. “Long time you no come.”
“The fellahs them, you know how it is when we get tight. All night boozing and swapping stories.”
“Stray cock done chased off a neighbor’s lot going strutting back home to his roost,” added Malty.
Banjo kicked him on the heel.
Ray was going off to a little alley restaurant, but Banjo would not hear of that. Latnah supported him.
“Sure, you-all come my place,” she said.
She cooked the food on the step just outside the door. The wood coal that she took from a bright-covered box and lit with a wad of paper, crackled tinnily in the stove, which was the bottom part of some throwaway preserve can, such as tramps use to warm themselves in winter.
The cooking touched pungently the boys’ nostrils and made Ray remember the Indian restaurant in New York where sometimes he used to go for curry food.
“Oh, the wine!” cried Latnah. “Who got money?”
Banjo shrugged, Malty grinned, and Ray said, “I got a couple a francs.”
“No, no you, camarade,” she christened Ray.
“Who’s to have money ef you no got?” Bugsy asked her. She fussed for a while about her waist and extracted a note, which she handed to Banjo. She made Ray shift his position where he was sitting on the box from which she had taken the coal, and got out two quart bottles.
“You get one extra bottle vin blanc,” she said.
“What for vin blanc?” demanded Banjo. “It’s dearer.”
“Mebbe you’ friend—”
“No, I always prefer red,” said Ray.
“All right, get three bottles vin rouge,” said Latnah, counting over her guests with a quick birdlike nodding.
“No forget change,” she called after Banjo, tramping heavily down the stairs.
“Not much change coming outa ten francs,” he flung back.
“It’s no ten; it’s twenty,” she said. “Don’t let the whites rob you.”
“Sweet nuts, ef it ain’t!” exclaimed Banjo. “All right, mamma. I got you.”
When Banjo returned with the wine he forgot to hand over the change. Latnah drew the cot into the middle of the little room and, spreading newspapers, she served the feast on it. The boys ranged themselves on each side of the cot, Latnah sitting where she could lean a little against Banjo. Ginger came in when they were in the middle of the feast.
“Whar you been? We been looking for you all over,” said Malty.
“I was cruising around,” said Ginger, “but Ise right here with you, all right. What it takes to find you when there’s a high feeding going on Ise got right here.” He pointed to his nose.
“Sure, youse got a combination of color there,” said Banjo, “that oughta smell out lots a things in this heah white man’s wul’.”
“Chuts, combination!” said Bugsy. “You got to show me that there’s any more to it than there is to naturalization, that you and me and Malty is. Ginger here ain’t nothing from combination but a mistake.”
“What’s that, you Bugsyboo?” said Ginger.
“You heared me, Lights-out,” replied Bugsy.
Latnah rolled up the newspapers in a bundle and put them in a corner. They smoked cigarettes. Banjo fell into a talking mood and gave a highly extravagant account of how he met Ray. The proprietress of the restaurant became a terrifying virago who would have him arrested by the police, if Ray had not intervened. And when he threatened to call in the police against her, she begged him not to and handed over the change in tears.
“I got something for you,” Latnah said to Banjo. “Bet you no guess.”
“American cigarettes—or English?” asked Banjo. “No.”
“Oh, I can’t guess. What is it?”
Latnah took a paper packet out of a cardboard suit box and gave it to Banjo. It contained a pair of pyjamas all bright yellow and blue and black.
“Oh, Lawdy! Lemme see you in them, Banjo!” cried Malty, who jumped up and made a few fairy motions.
“What you want waste money on these heah things for?” demanded Banjo.
“A man had plenty of them selling cheap,” said Latnah. “Ten francs. I think he steal them. They good for you.”
“You evah hear a seaman fooling with pyjamas?” said Banjo.
“Sure,” said Ginger. “I used to wear pyjamas mahself one time. It’s good for a change. You’ hide will feel better in them tonight.”
Latnah tried to hide her coy little smile behind her hand.
“Plugging home, plugging home,” chanted Malty to the air of the “West Indies Blues.”
They were short of cigarettes and Banjo went off to get some. Banjo remained so long Bugsy and Ginger left to look for him. Ginger returned after a while, stuck his head through the door, and tossed a packet of yellow French cigarettes at Latnah. “Can’t find that nigger Banjo anywheres,” he said. “He done vanish like a spook.”
“Like a rat into one a them holes, you mean,” said Malty.
Latnah became fidgety and melancholy. She tossed a cigarette at Ray. “Banjo is one big dirty man,” she said.
“Oh, he’ll come all right,” said Malty. “He’s broke.”
“He no broke,” said Latnah. “He got change of the twenty francs.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Malty.
