“I thought yo’-all were American boys,” said the girl. “But what yo’-all doing so far away from home?”
“We works on ship, miss,” said Bugsy; “we-all waiting on ship now.”
“Are yo’-all having a good time while you’re waiting?”
“Not so bad, miss, although wese all of us broke all the time.”
“Isn’t it wonderful!” she said, aloud, yet more to herself. “These cullud boys here just like they were back home! … Say, boy, will you get me a paper—an American paper?”
But before Bugsy could say yes, a white South African fellow on the beach had put himself in front of him and offered his services.
“You want a paper, lady? I’ll get it and anything you want. I know the town better—”
“She ain’t asting you foh nothing. It’s me she done ask!” Bugsy was up in the face of the little white, who was just his size, with twitching hands, his knuckles rapping his antagonist’s breast.
“Stand off, you bloody kaffir—nigger!” said the white.
Bugsy palmed him full in the face. “You want fight? Fight, then.”
The South African staggered back a little, steadied himself, and came back at Bugsy. He was game for it. Bugsy ducked the drive to his jaw and closed in. With a swift movement of his right foot he sent the South African down on his back and was down upon him with fist and knee.
“That’s not fair fighting; that’s not fair,” the South African cried.
“Wha’s not fair? Ise fighting, tha’s what Ise doing,” retorted Bugsy.
Some dockers had gathered around, and one of them pulled Bugsy up. The South African, mad with anger, rushed him, but Bugsy stepped aside, and if it had not been for one of the large ropes attaching the ship to the pier, the white boy would have fallen into the water. He came back sparring at Bugsy, who maneuvered a clinch. The South African drove his fist low-down into Bugsy’s belly. Bugsy retaliated with a double butt. That broke off the clinch, and suddenly he dove down between the South African’s legs and, lifting him by the feet into the air, he sent him away off sprawling on his back. It was nothing less than a miracle that the boy’s skull missed the iron pillar on the pier. That ended the fight.
Bugsy looked toward the deck and saw not the fair passenger, but a Chinese cook in native dress of blue pantaloons and yellow jacket, with a large apple pie in his hand. To Bugsy’s surprise the Chinaman bared his Oriental teeth, rather dirty, and handed him the pie, patting him all the while on the shoulder:
“Tek pie. Me give. You fight good. Me love to see you fight like that. Tek pie.”
The Chinaman patted Bugsy again and hurried back with his quick jerky steps up the gangway, leaving him happy with his American pie, but still rather astonished by the gesture and not in the least understanding what it was all about.
The Irish boy was at Bugsy’s elbow. Bugsy turned to him.
“He say I don’t fight fair. Nuts! Fighting is fighting. In England when they oncet get you down they kick you all ovah. I didn’t even lift mah foot at him.”
The Irish boy laughed. “Don’t worry about him. Perhaps he had an idea you was putting on a sparring match for the benefit a them tourists.”
In the meantime Banjo had superseded Bugsy in the favor of the gracious young lady.
“I’ll get that theah paper for you,” Banjo said.
“Be sure you get American and not English,” she had moved a little down the gangway and pretended not to have seen the fight. She gave Banjo a dollar.
Banjo held the dollar in a tentative, humorous manner and said: “But I gotta go way up yonder uptown to get it, miss, and I’ll have to take a taxi, and that alone’ll cost a dollar.”
“Will it?” Her eyes took in Banjo’s strutting elegance in a swift glance. She smiled and said: “Well, here’s another dollar for yourself and five francs. You can get the paper with that. It’s all the French money I’ve got. … What part of the South you from?” she asked as Banjo reached for the money.
A moment’s hesitation, too slight for her to remark, and he said, “Norfolk, miss.”
“Norfolk! Why, I’m from Richmond and I know Norfolk very well. What part do you come from? I have relatives there. Do you know the Smith family?”
“Sure, miss. I useta work as a chauffeur foh one them. That they one was … he was … I think he was. …”
“Was it Mr. Charlie?”
“Egsactly, miss. I done drove Marse Charlie’s car and—”
“Did you never hear him mention his cousins, the Joneses of Richmond?”
“Sure thing, miss. Him and his wife and all a the family was always talking about them Joneses. I knows Richmond mahself, miss. I useta live there on Wellington Street—”
“Now isn’t it just too extraordinary for anything to see all you boys from back home here! How do you find it?”
“Tough enough, miss, while wese waiting to get a job on a ship, but sometimes fellahs like oursel’s working in our line will hulp us out some when a boat is in, and when it is a big liner like this we hang around for any little job going that a passenger might want done.”
“Give me back those two dollars.” The girl opened a richly-variegated bead bag and, taking the two dollars from Banjo, she handed him a five-dollar note, saying: “Divide that up among you-all and get me what papers you can with the five francs. Those published in Paris will do, but be sure they’re American.”
Banjo pulled his hat off and made a fine darky acknowledgment. The fight was finished. The girl, indicating the South African, asked, “Is he American, too?”
“No, miss,” replied Banjo, “he’s British.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed, casually, and went back up on deck among the passengers, who had also followed the fight with neutral amusement.
On the l’Estaque road Banjo caught a tramcar going to Joliette. He boarded it and, arriving in the square he
