Even the oldest and rattiest cabarets in Harlem have sense of shame enough to hide themselves under the ground—for instance, Edwards’s. To get into Edwards’s you casually enter a dimly lighted corner saloon, apparently—only apparently—a subdued memory of brighter days. What was once the family entrance is now a side entrance for ladies. Supporting yourself against close walls, you crouchingly descend a narrow, twisted staircase until, with a final turn, you find yourself in a glaring, long, low basement. In a moment your eyes become accustomed to the haze of tobacco smoke. You see men and women seated at wire-legged, white-topped tables, which are covered with half-empty bottles and glasses; you trace the slow-jazz accompaniment you heard as you came down the stairs to a pianist, a cornetist, and a drummer on a little platform at the far end of the room. There is a cleared space from the foot of the stairs, where you are standing, to the platform where this orchestra is mounted, and in it a tall brown girl is swaying from side to side and rhythmically proclaiming that she has the world in a jug and the stopper in her hand. Behind a counter at your left sits a fat, bald, tea-colored Negro, and you wonder if this is Edwards—Edwards, who stands in with the police, with the political bosses, with the importers of wines and worse. A white-vested waiter hustles you to a seat and takes your order. The song’s tempo changes to a quicker; the drum and the cornet rip out a fanfare, almost drowning the piano; the girl catches up her dress and begins to dance. . . .

Gillis’s wondering eyes had been roaming about. They stopped.

“Look, Mouse,” he whispered. “Look a-yonder!”

“Look at what?”

“Dog-gone if it ain’ de self-same gal!”

“Wha’ d’ye mean, self-same girl?”

“Over yonder, wi’ de green stockin’s. Dass de gal made me knock over dem apples fust day I come to town. ’Member? Been wishin’ I could see her ev’y sence.”

“What for?” Uggam wondered.

King Solomon grew confidential. “Ain’ but two things in dis world, Mouse, I really wants. One is to be a policeman. Been wantin’ dat ev’y sence I seen dat cullud traffic-cop dat day. Other is to git myse’f a gal lak dat one over yonder!”

“You’ll do it,” laughed Uggam, “if you live long enough.”

“Who dat wid her?”

“How’n hell do I know?”

“He cullud?”

“Don’t look like it. Why? What of it?”

“Hm—nuthin’——”

“How many coupons y’ got to-night?”

“Ten.” King Solomon handed them over.

“Y’ought to ’ve slipt ’em to me under the table, but it’s all right now, long as we got this table to ourselves. Here’s y’ medicine for to-morrer.”

“Wha’?”

“Reach under the table.”

Gillis secured and pocketed the medicine.

“An’ here’s two-fifty for a good day’s work.” Uggam passed the money over. Perhaps he grew careless; certainly the passing this time was above the table, in plain sight.

“Thanks, Mouse.”

Two white men had been watching Gillis and Uggam from a table near by. In the tumult of merriment that rewarded the entertainer’s most recent and daring effort, one of these men, with a word to the other, came over and took the vacant chair beside Gillis.

“Is your name Gillis?”

“ ’Tain’ nuthin’ else.”

Uggam’s eyes narrowed.

The white man showed King Solomon a police officer’s badge.

“You’re wanted for dope-peddling. Will you come along without trouble?”

“Fo’ what?”

“Violation of the narcotic law—dope-selling.”

“Who—me?”

“Come on, now, lay off that stuff. I saw what happened just now myself.” He addressed Uggam. “Do you know this fellow?”

“Nope. Never saw him before to-night.”

“Didn’t I just see him sell you something?”

“Guess you did. We happened to be sittin’ here at the same table and got to talkin’. After a while I says I can’t seem to sleep nights, so he offers me sump’n he says’ll make me sleep, all right. I don’t know what it is, but he says he uses it himself an’ I offers to pay him what it cost him. That’s how I come to take it. Guess he’s got more in his pocket there now.”

The detective reached deftly into the coat pocket of the dumfounded King Solomon and withdrew a packet of envelopes. He tore off a corner of one, emptied a half-dozen tiny white tablets into his palm, and sneered triumphantly. “You’ll make a good witness,” he told Uggam.

The entertainer was issuing an ultimatum to all sweet mammas who dared to monkey round her loving man. Her audience was absorbed and delighted, with the exception of one couple—the girl with the green stockings and her escort. They sat directly in the line of vision of King Solomon’s wide eyes, which, in the calamity that had descended upon him, for the moment saw nothing.

“Are you coming without trouble?”

Mouse Uggam, his friend. Harlem. Land of plenty. City of refuge—city of refuge. If you live long enough——

Consciousness of what was happening between the pair across the room suddenly broke through Gillis’s daze like flame through smoke. The man was trying to kiss the girl and she was resisting. Gillis jumped up. The detective, taking the act for an attempt at escape, jumped with him and was quick enough to intercept him. The second officer came at once to his fellow’s aid, blowing his whistle several times as he came.

People overturned chairs getting out of the way, but nobody ran for the door. It was an old crowd. A fight was a treat; and the tall Negro could fight.

“Judas Priest!”

“Did you see that?”

“Damn!”

White—both white. Five of Mose Joplin’s horses. Poisoning a well. A year’s crops. Green stockings—white—white—

“That’s the time, papa!”

“Do it, big boy!”

“Good night!”

Uggam watched tensely, with one eye on the door. The second cop had blown for help—

Downing one of the detectives a third time and turning to grapple again with the other, Gillis found himself face to face with a uniformed black policeman.

He stopped as if stunned. For a moment he simply stared. Into his mind swept his own words like a forgotten song, suddenly recalled:

“Cullud policemans!”

The officer stood ready, awaiting his rush.

“Even—got—cullud—policemans—”

Very slowly King Solomon’s arms relaxed; very slowly he stood erect; and the grin that came over his features had something exultant about it.