A couple of drunken white girls sat over empty gin glasses at a table nearby. Babe knew these hustlers. They were guzzlers. They worked the streets till they made enough for a few drinks and then they parked around the Fifth Avenue creep joints, waiting for downtown explorers that needed a “steer” to dope or wanted to be led to a “circus” where women resorted to strange practices to gratify morbid curiosity. There was more money in this racket and it was easier. It took energy to be a leg worker and they were wasted skeletons, bones showing.

Toni’s was crowding up. Musicians and chorus girls from the burlesque houses on 125th Street came in to spend the night and morning over cheap gin and a hunk of chicken.

The Bearcat appeared in the doorway, with Joe Malone; Harry Flick, another fighter; and three buddies from the express company. They came toward the tables where Babe and Bill were eagerly awaiting the party.

III BABE MEETS THE BEARCAT

THE BEARCAT was wearing a neat double-breasted dark suit with a faint stripe running through the material. His hair was slicked down and he looked good to Babe, despite a cut in the corner of his mouth and a slight swelling over his right eye.

“Hello,” said Bill. “Where’s Charlie?“

“He’s outside phonin’,” replied Joe Malone as he shook hands with Babe. His right eye closed in an outrageous wink. He pulled up a chair next to Babe and turned to the Bearcat. “Sit here, Bearcat.“

The Bearcat looked at Babe and back to Joe.

“Lemme make you acquainted wit’ Bearcat Delaney,” Joe said. He wasn’t much on ceremony. “Dis is Babe Gordon, Bearcat.“

“Pleased to meet you,” said Babe.

“Same here,” said the Bearcat. He sat down next to her.

Then he summoned the waiter and ordered drinks for the crowd, taking only plain ginger ale for himself. Babe ordered a gin rickey. Bearcat asked her how she liked the fight.

“Great!” cried Babe enthusiastically, as though it had been the most sensational thing that ever happened. “Big boy, you sure can handle your mits.“

“Well,” said the Bearcat, a little bashfully, “that’s my business. I want to be the best in my class. I’m anxious to get to the top.“

“And you sure will, baby,” she said, “if you keep doing what you done tonight!“

Then her eye fell on the swollen spot over Bearcat’s right eye, where the blacksmith had clipped him.

“Oh,” said Babe sympathetically, placing her soft fingers on the bruise. “Does it hurt?“

“Naw,” said the Bearcat, a thrill passing through him at the touch of her fingers. “That ain’t nothin’.”