To the bridge-table: “Anybody got any money?”

From Neil and Charles Sayward, she was able to garner sixty-four dollars, but they had not enough silver for change.

“You might make it the even sixty-four,” purred Borus.

Neil sprang up, full of the most romantic notions about ordering this bandit out of the house, but as he looked at Borus’s amused ease, it was revealed to him that, for his own sport, this was what Borus hoped for.

“Good idea. Make it even,” said Neil. “Good luck, Belfreda. Good-bye, Mr.—Bugdoll, is it?”

He resolutely moved over, like a small but very select company, to shake Borus’s hand. There was a moment’s trial of strength, Borus’s steel claw against Neil’s fist, and then Borus smiled. Neil liked that smile so much that half a minute passed before he remembered to be a superior white man and to say, with the grave courtesy which is the essence of insult, “Would you care to sit down in the kitchen, Mr. Bugdoll, while Belfreda packs?”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Kingsblood. Yes, I’ll sit down in the kitchen… while Miss Gray packs.” And vanished.

* * * * *

Vestal came back with laughter from supervising Belfreda’s packing.

“Damn those tramps, they win!”

“How come?” they all said.

“I was simply delighted that Belfreda had up and quit. I felt so free. And I thought I’d show ‘em what a grand white-lady I am by being cordial and forgiving. I thought they’d slink off repentantly in his car (which is quite a bus, by the way; I wish we could afford one like it). But they didn’t. They drove off yelling ‘Good-bye, honey’ like hyenas. Because while Belfreda was up packing, Borus washed all the dishes and put ‘em away, neater than I ever saw, and he’s left for us, right in the middle of the kitchen table, a jorum of champagne! My God, I never saw a jorum of champagne before, outside of an advertisement!”

“What a man!” admired Kitty Sayward. “I thought he had the most stunning build I ever laid eyes on.”

“Yes, quite a man,” murmured Vestal absently.

But Charles Sayward, most genial of husbands, protested, “What kind of white women do you two think you are, falling for a notorious, booze-peddling, slot-machine-owning, white-slaving black gangster! At least half of this country has plumb gone to hell—the women!”

Chapter 6

The breakfasts were better, now that Vestal made them, and there was always an ash-tray on the table, and the morning Banner. Now and then Neil danced a jig on the kitchen floor, and gloated “This is all ours again!”

But, with the perversity of children and animals, Biddy and Prince kept mourning for Belfreda, coming in to search for her, looking reproachfully at Neil and Vestal, and saying, if only with their eyes, “What did you do to our friend?”

Within a week Vestal engaged Nancy Havock’s cousin, Shirley Pzort, as maid.

Shirley was highly willing to share the cheer of the coming Christmas; she was even friendlier than Vestal desired, and always addressed her as “sweetie.” She was what at that period was known as a “bobby-soxer”; an almost pure young woman, innocent and graceful as a kitten, devoted to bubble-gum and dancing.