“Yeah, an’ you got a baby to support and the insurance to keep up. Ain’t it hell?”

“Honest Jenny, I got so much to tell you. I was comin’ up all week to see you. How’s things?”

“Bad enough so I got to be lookin’ over things in a Five and Ten.”

“Ain’t it a scream, me bein’ here?”

Jenny bared her teeth in a ghastly grin.

“Yes, it sure handed me a wallop, meeting you this way.”

“Y’never know what life’s goin’ to hand you, Jenny.”

“Yer right. It’s sure tough you had to come down to this—punchin’ dimes for Baldwin. Bet you’re broken-hearted you had to give up Bearcat and Money Johnson for this.”

“Oh,” said Babe, feeling sure she was convincing Jenny that she was on the level. “I got to stay here a while if I expect to get alimony from the Bearcat.”

Jenny appeared surprised.

“Is that what you aim to get by bein’ here?”

“Sure! He can’t get nothing on me so long as I work hard to support myself.”

“Look out you don’t take up religion next!”

“Just the same, Jen, say a prayer for me.”

“Yeah, you might need savin’,” Jenny smiled. “So long, Babe.”

“Droppin’ in again?”

“I might.”

Jenny faded away in the crowd. Babe didn’t like the way Jenny had smiled.

It was several days before Babe saw Jenny again. And then under strange circumstances.

“Cash! . . . Cash! . . . Cash!”

“Mr. Valentine, oh, Mr. Valentine! Five dollars’ worth of dimes, please!”

It was the peak of the day’s business at Baldwin’s. The neighborhood populace was streaming in and out of the four entrances of the store. Forward at the left wall, the player piano was reeling off, “What a Friend I have in Jesus.” Opposite against the right wall at the phonograph record counter, the electric orthophonic played, “Save It, Pretty Mama, All for Me, Don’t Give Any of It Away.”

Between the records and the store front at the white tile lunch counter a little old white haired lady in black was having tea and nabiscos. A plumber in greasy overalls bolted down spaghetti. Three negro girls discussed Lon Chaney’s latest picture over ice cream and cocoanut cake, and a fat woman poured down buttermilk. On a line with the lunch counter to the rear of the store was the jewelry counter flashing with necklaces of pearl, coral, amber and glass; trays of rings, ear-drops, brooches, where fair Africa bejeweled herself.

Between the second and third entrances of the store, near the candy bazaar, was the frankfurter stand, where a negro minister munched a hot dog, while he consoled a thin young negro woman with black crepe trailing from the back of her hat.