Home to Harlem · First Part · Chapter 6 (2/2)

Biff! Square on the mouth. The chocolate leaped up like a tiger-cat at his assailant, carrying over card table, little pile of money, and half-filled gin glasses with a crash. Like an enraged ram goat, he held and butted the light-brown boy twice, straight on the forehead. The victim crumpled with a thud to the floor. Susy jerked over to the felled boy and hauled him, his body leaving a liquid trail, to the door. She flung him out in the corridor and slammed the door.

“Sarves him right, pulling off that crap in mah place. And you, Mis’er Jack Johnson,” she said to the chocolate youth, “lemme miss you quick.”

“He done hits me first,” the chocolate said.

“I knows it, but I ain’t gwina stand foh no roughhouse in mah place. Ise got a dawg heah wif me all ready foh bawking.”

“K‑hhhhh, K‑hhhhh,” laughed Strawberry Lips. “Oh, boh, I know it’s the trute, but⁠—”

The chocolate lad slunk out of the flat.

“Lavinia,” said Susy to Miss Curdy, “put on that theah ‘Tickling Blues’ on the victroly.”

The phonograph began its scraping and Miss Curdy started jig-jagging with Strawberry Lips. Jake gloomed with disgust against the door.

“Getting outa this, buddy?” he asked Zeddy.

“Nobody’s chasing us, boh.” Zeddy commenced stepping with Susy to the “Tickling Blues.”

Outside, Jake found the light-brown boy still half-stunned against the wall.

“Ain’t you gwine at home?” Jake asked him.

“I can’t find a nickel foh car fare,” said the boy.

Jake took him into a saloon and bought him a lemon squash. “Drink that to clear you’ haid,” he said. “And heah’s car fare.” He gave the boy a dollar. “Whar you living at?”

“San Juan Hill.”

“Come on, le’s git the subway, then.”

The Myrtle Avenue Elevated train passed with a high raucous rumble over their heads.

“Myrtle Avenue,” murmured Jake. “Pretty name, all right, but it stinks like a sewer. Legs and feets! Come take me outa it back home to Harlem.”