The big foreign car swung up Seventh Avenue on its way to Johnson’s elaborate, gaudy apartment in Strivers’ Row.

Walking along in the same direction as the car were two well known dusky characters of Harlem’s night life, on their way home to bed. One spoke with a high, squeaky voice and had a girlish laugh which partly explained his nickname of Madame Jolly. The other was Willie. Just Willie, known by no other name but easily identified by the pink silk handkerchief always carried in his sleeve. These two knew everything about who’s who and what’s what and that’s that in Harlem.

Madame Jolly was the first one to spot Babe and Money Johnson in the car as it purred by them.

“Lan’, chile,” he cried to Willie, “did yo’ see dat? Dere goes Money Johnson wit’ his ofay broad. Beautiful gal! Sweet Mama! Lor’, chile, he ain’t dealin’ in nothin’ now but pink-toes!”

Willie’s eyes bulged in his head.

“Look at ’im bustin’ up duh avenyer! Mm! Mm!”

“Better not let pretty Marie see him,” said Madame Jolly. “She don’ stand aside fo’ none o’ dem blondes. Chile, ef she catch him she gonna kick him so hard dey’ll have to take him to duh Hospital to pull her foot out!”

Willie grinned.

“Ah hears all duh yalla gals jus’ ’bout goin’ crazy since Money gone pink-chasin’! Tell me he livin’ lak a king up dere in Strivers’ Row in a palacious apartment.”

Madame Jolly threw up his head.

“Lak a king? Lan’, chile, yo’ means like a emperorer, nothin’ less.”

Willie nodded his head.

“Ah hears he’s got a gol’ bed up dere, wit’ steps roun’ it. Yo’ got to walk up stairs to git to bed.”

Madame Jolly rolled his eyes.

“Willie, don’ Ah know, don’ Ah know? Ah’s been dere, Ah’s been dere. He got a gol’ bed up on a plate-form. An’ lan’, chile, he got silks an’ satins hangin’ on duh walls, an’ carpets on duh floor dat yo’d lak to sink in up to yo’ knees; an’ what dey calls duh sunken baftub right in duh floor. Yo’ got to go downstairs to duh baftub an’ upstairs to duh bed. An’ lan’, chile, he got pitchers ob naked women all over duh place. Dere’s one pitcher ob a naked woman on a white horse wit’ long yalla hair hangin’ down.”

Willie looked startled.

“Duh white horse has got long yalla hair hangin’ down?”

“No, fool man. Duh woman on duh horse has got yalla hair!”

“Mm, mm!” said Willie. “Tell me mo’.”

“Lan’, chile,” continued Madame Jolly, “you ain’t heard nothin’: We’s up dere on a party one night an’ dat high yalla Topaze, she lay in dat gorgeous gol’ bed wit’ silk sheets, an’ she say to Money, ‘Come on, baby, come ovah heah to yo sweet mama!’”

Willie had an anxious look.