conversation and food and drink and were ready to depart,
Hegglund leading the way. And instead of the vulgar and
secretive mission producing a kind of solemnity and mental
or moral self-examination and self-flagellation, they laughed
and talked as though there was nothing but a delicious form
of amusement before them. Indeed, much to Clyde’s
disgust and amazement, they now began to reminisce
concerning other ventures into this world—of one particular
one which seemed to amuse them all greatly, and which
seemed to concern some “joint,” as they called it, which
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they had once visited—a place called “Bettina’s.” They had
been led there originally by a certain wild youth by the name
of “Pinky” Jones of the staff of another local hotel. And this
boy and one other by the name of Birmingham, together
with Hegglund, who had become wildly intoxicated, had
there indulged in wild pranks which all but led to their arrest
—pranks which to Clyde, as he listened to them, seemed
scarcely possible to boys of this caliber and cleanly
appearance—pranks so crude and disgusting as to sicken
him a little.
“Oh, ho, and de pitcher of water de girl on de second floor
doused on me as I went out,” called Hegglund, laughing
heartily.
“And the big fat guy on the second floor that came to the
door to see. Remember?” laughed Kinsella. “He thought
there was a fire or a riot, I bet.”
“And you and that little fat girl, Piggy. ’Member, Ratterer?”
squealed Shiel, laughing and choking as he tried to tell of it.
“And Ratterer’s legs all bent under his load. Yoo-hoo!”
yelled Hegglund. “And de way de two of ’em finally slid
down de steps.”
“That was all your fault, Hegglund,” called Higby from
Kinsella’s side. “If you hadn’t tried that switching stuff we
never woulda got put out.”
“I tell you I was drunk,” protested Ratterer. “It was the red-
eye they sold in there.”
“And that long, thin guy from Texas with the big mustache,
will you ever forget him, an’ the way he laughed?” added
Kinsella. “He wouldn’t help nobody ’gainst us. ’Member?”
“It’s a wonder we weren’t all thrown in the street or locked
up. Oh, gee, what a night!” reminisced Ratterer.
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By now Clyde was faintly dizzy with the nature of these
revelations. “Switchin’.” That could mean but one thing.
And they expected him to share in revels such as these,
maybe. It could not be. He was not that sort of person.
What would his mother and, father think if they were to hear
of such dreadful things? And yet——
Even as they talked, they had reached a certain house in a
dark and rather wide street, the curbs of which for a block
or more on either side were sprinkled with cabs and cars.
And at the corner, only a little distance away, were some
young men standing and talking. And over the way, more
men. And not a half a block farther on, they passed two
policemen, idling and conversing. And although there was
no light visible in any window, nor over any transom, still,
curiously, there was a sense of vivid, radiant life. One could
feel it in this dark street. Taxis spun and honked and two
old-time closed carriages still in use rolled here and there,
their curtains drawn. And doors slammed or opened and
closed. And now and then a segment of bright inward light
pierced the outward gloom and then disappeared again.
Overhead on this night were many stars.
Finally, without any comment from any one, Hegglund,
accompanied by Higby and Shiel, marched up the steps of
this house and rang the bell. Almost instantly the door was
opened by a black girl in a red dress. “Good evening. Walk
right in, won’t you?” was the affable greeting, and the six,
having pushed past her and through the curtains of heavy
velvet, which separated this small area from the main
chambers, Clyde found himself in a bright and rather gaudy
general parlor or reception room, the walls of which were
ornamented with gilt-framed pictures of nude or semi-nude
girls and some very high pier mirrors. And the floor was
covered by a bright red thick carpet, over which were
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strewn many gilt chairs. At the back, before some very
bright red hangings, was a gilded upright piano. But of
guests or inmates there seemed to be none, other than the
black girl.
“Jest be seated, won’t you? Make yourselves at home. I’ll
call the madam.” And, running upstairs to the left, she
began calling: “Oh, Marie! Sadie! Caroline! They is some
young gentlemen in the parlor.”
And at that moment, from a door in the rear, there emerged
a tall, slim and rather pale-faced woman of about thirty-
eight or forty—very erect, very executive, very intelligent
and graceful-looking—diaphanously and yet modestly
garbed, who said, with a rather wan and yet encouraging
smile: “Oh, hello, Oscar, it’s you, is it? And you too, Paul.
Hello! Hello, Davis! Just make yourselves at home
anywhere, all of you. Fannie will be in in a minute. She’ll
bring you something to drink. I’ve just hired a new pianist
from St. Joe—a Negro. Wait’ll you hear him. He’s awfully
clever.”
She returned to the rear and called, “Oh, Sam!”
As she did so, nine girls of varying ages and looks, but
none apparently over twenty-four or five—came trooping
down the stairs at one side in the rear, and garbed as Clyde
had never seen any women dressed anywhere. And they
were all laughing and talking as they came—evidently very
well pleased with themselves and in nowise ashamed of
their appearance, which in some instances was quite
extraordinary, as Clyde saw it, their costumes ranging from
the gayest and flimsiest of boudoir negligees to the
somewhat more sober, if no less revealing, dancing and
ballroom gowns. And they were of such varied types and
sizes and complexions—slim and stout and medium—tall or
short—and dark or light or betwixt. And, whatever their
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ages, all seemed young. And they smiled so warmly and
enthusiastically.
“Oh, hello, sweetheart! How are you? Don’t you want to
dance with me?” or “Wouldn’t you like something to drink?”
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Chapter 10
PREPARED as Clyde was to dislike all this, so steeped had
he been in the moods and maxims antipathetic to anything
of its kind, still so innately sensual and romantic was his
own disposition and so starved where sex was concerned,
that instead of being sickened, he was quite fascinated.
The very fleshly sumptuousness of most of these figures,
dull and un-romantic as might be the brains that directed
them, interested him for the time being. After all, here was
beauty of a gross, fleshly character, revealed and
purchasable. And there were no difficulties of mood or
inhibitions to overcome in connection with any of these
girls. One of them, a quite pretty brunette in a black and red
costume with a band of red ribbon across her forehead,
seemed to be decidedly at home with Higby, for already she
was dancing with him in the back room to a jazz melody
most irrationally hammered out upon the piano.
And Ratterer, to Clyde’s surprise, was already seated upon
one of the gilt chairs and upon his knees was lounging a tall
young girl with very light hair and blue eyes. And she was
smoking a cigarette and tapping her gold slippers to the
melody of the piano. It was really quite an amazing and
Aladdin-like scene to him. And here was Hegglund, before
whom was standing a German or Scandinavian type, plump
and pretty, her arms akimbo and her feet wide apart. And
she was asking—with an upward swell of the voice, as
Clyde could hear: “You make love to me to-night?” But
Hegglund, apparently not very much taken with these
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overtures, calmly shook his head, after which she went on
to Kinsella.
And even as he was looking and thinking, a quite attractive
blonde girl of not less than twenty-four, but who seemed
younger to Clyde, drew up a chair beside him and seating
herself, said: “Don’t you dance?” He shook his head
nervously. “Want me to show you?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to try here,” he said.
“Oh, it’s easy,” she continued. “Come on!” But since he
would not, though he was rather pleased with her for being
agreeable to him, she added: “Well, how about something
to drink then?”
“Sure,” he agreed, gallantly, and forthwith she signaled the
young Negress who had returned as waitress, and in a
moment a small table was put before them and a bottle of
whisky with soda on the side—a sight that so astonished
and troubled Clyde that he could scarcely speak. He had
forty dollars in his pocket, and the cost of drinks here, as he
had heard from the others, would not be less than two