It was here that Wayne Baldwin, Jr., first saw Babe Gordon. He had recently returned from Paris where he was surprised and mildly shocked by the freedom with which whites and blacks fraternized. One night he was discussing the matter at his club when Jack Rathburne exclaimed,

“Good Lord! Don’t you know that right in Harlem you can see more mixing of white and black in one night than you can see in a month in Paris?”

Baldwin was a bit skeptical. He admitted he had never been to Harlem except to visit their local store but was willing to be shown. He was the son of W. W. Baldwin, founder of the great chain of Five and Ten Cent stores bearing his name. Wayne was now sales-manager of the company and a frequent visitor to all their more important branches.

Rathburne as an habitué of Harlem made up a party to show Baldwin the sights. Leonard Colton and Barry Washburn went along with them. These four young men were Social Registerites and looked every inch of it. Wayne Baldwin was by far the-outstanding figure. He was tall, slender, with a fine breadth of shoulders. His evening clothes, made in Bond Street, seemed as much a part of him as his dark, wavy hair. He possessed that illusive quality called “charm.”

Rathburne naturally appointed himself official guide of the party. He piloted them to all the well-known resorts, reserving the Harlem Breakfast Club as a climax to the evening.

Everywhere they went they drank freely, so that when they finally arrived at the Harlem they were just in the right mood for sport.

“This is the maddest place in town,” Rathburne said, as an obsequious waiter showed them to a table on the rim of the dance floor. “Wayne, prepare to hear your Puritanical ancestors turning over in their graves tonight.”

They all laughed.

“If you expect me to be shocked to death, Jack,” said Baldwin, “you’ll be disappointed. I disowned my ancestors long ago. There were too many pirates in the crowd.”

The others roared at that, the liquor they had consumed made the remark seem all the more pungent.

“Good boy!” said Leonard Colton. “Let’s have another drink.”

“Well,” said Jack, “all I’ve got to say is, don’t tell Alice I dragged you in here.”

Alice was Baldwin’s sister. She and rollicking Jack Rathburne had reached the point where all that was needed was an engagement ring.

“Don’t worry,” said Baldwin. “I won’t. Alice has high-hatted me ever since I came home from Paris. She’s been kind of hinting around, digging at me with odd questions. I think she’s dying to know whether I had a string of mistresses while I was abroad. I wonder you don’t find Alice too straight-laced, Jack. You know you’ll have to cut out this sort of thing if you marry that precious sister of mine.”