The entertainer was issuing an ultimatum to all sweet mammas who dared to monkey round her loving man. Her audience was absorbed and delighted, with the exception of one couple—the girl with the green stockings and her escort. They sat directly in the line of vision of King Solomon’s wide
eyes, which, in the calamity that had descended upon him, for the moment saw nothing.
“Are you coming without trouble?”
Mouse Uggam, his friend. Harlem. Land of plenty. City of refuge-city of refuge. If you live long enough-
Consciousness of what was happening between the pair across the room suddenly broke through Gillis’s daze like flame through smoke. The man was trying to kiss the girl and she was resisting. Gillis jumped up. The detective, taking the act for an attempt at escape, jumped with him and was quick enough to intercept him. The second officer came at once to his fellow's aid, blowing his whistle several times as he came. People overturned chairs getting out of the way, but nobody ran for the door. It was an old crowd. A fight was a treat; and the tall Negro could fight.
“Judas Priest!”
“Did you see that?”
“Damn!”
White-both white. Five of Mose Joplin’s horses. Poisoning a well. A year’s crops. Green stockings—white—white—
“That’s the time, papa!”
“Do it, big boy!”
“Good night!”
Uggam watched tensely, with one eye on the door. The second cop had blown for help—\
Downing one of the detectives a third time and turning to grapple again with the other, Gillis found himself face to face with a uniformed black policeman.
He stopped as if stunned. For a moment he simply stared. Into his mind swept his own words like a forgotten song suddenly recalled:
“Cullud policemans!”
