He turned his eyes away in loathing from this public exhibition of sensual pleasure. He wanted to do something to shame the woman and put that burly dinge back in his place. His brain was spinning madly. “Why, I could give her all that, if she’d let me. And that’s what I want to be to her right now—her lover. Goddam that nigger!”

The music grew more sensuous, vibrant with passion.

Johnson’s hand moved from the white shoulder down under the arm-pit of the woman. He looked down at her as he pressed her voluptuous white body to his brawny frame. Babe raised her eyes languorously, signaling an invitation to the lips above hers. The African eyes scorched hers. The white woman melted dreamily into the black arms; her delicate hand caressed him. Baldwin, too, was scorched by this scene. His pulses beat madly. His whole body was parched and feverish.

His imagination carried the scene he was witnessing to its conclusion, and the thought drove him mad. She was a beast-woman, a sex-drunkard, a nigger lover! But God! he wanted her just the same. He rose dramatically from the table and seizing his glass sent it crashing to the floor.

Baldwin was just another early morning drunk to the rest of the crowd in the cabaret. Only his own party, drunk like all the rest, looked astonished for a moment, wondering what had caused his sudden outburst. They laid it to the bad liquor, but tried to persuade him to sit down and have just one more drink. With balanced feet but unbalanced mind, Baldwin without a word of explanation suddenly stalked to the coat-room, demanded his hat and stick, then disappeared into the murky night. The saxophones groaned on. The spotlights stabbed out in the dark like star-shells over No Man’s Land. Drunken joy surged to the center of the floor and barbarous urge led to a shouting ecstasy which ended only with exhaustion. Black bodies glistened and their pungent smell mingled with the fumes of raw whiskey. Baldwin’s party had seen, heard, and tasted enough, some of them too much, in one way or another, so they lurched to the street and their waiting car.

XVII HIS OFAY BROAD

WHEN Baldwin made his sudden exit from the Harlem Breakfast Club, his friends merely thought he was drunk and needed some fresh air. They found him seated in the back of his car waiting for them.

He explained that the heat and drinks had gone to his head so he had hurried out to cool off. Amidst a good deal of drunken chaffing they were driven down town and delivered to their respective homes by Baldwin’s discreet chauffeur.

Meanwhile, at the club the orgy continued to rage, and it was not until seven o’clock in the morning that Babe Gordon and Money Johnson emerged from the club and got into the limousine that stood waiting for them at the curb.