The cabaret was close, hot, and crowded. There was loud music and louder laughter and the clinking of glasses. More than half the patrons were white, and they were clustered mostly on one side. They had the furtive air of fugitives in a foreign land, out from under the eyes of their acquaintances. Some were drunk and noisy. Others seemed looking expectantly for things that did not happen, but which surely ought to happen in this bizarre outland! The colored patrons seemed more at home and natural. They were just laughing and dancing, although some looked bored.
The minister stared. “Are they having a good time, or just trying to?”
“Some of them are really gay. This girl here—”
The minister recoiled a little as the girl reached their table. She was pale cream, with black eyes and hair; and her body, which she was continuously raising her clothes to reveal, had a sinuous, writhing movement. She danced with body and soul and sang her vulgar “blues” with a harsh, shrill voice that hardly seemed hers at all. She was an astonishing blend of beauty, rhythm, and ugliness. She had collected all the cash in sight on the white side and now came over to the Negroes.
“Come on, baby,” she yelled to the minister, as she began singing at their table, and her writhing body curled like a wisp of golden smoke. The minister recoiled, but Matthew looked up and smiled. Some yearning seized him. It seemed so long since a woman’s hand had touched him that he scarce saw the dross of this woman. He tossed her a dollar, and as she stooped to gather it, she looked at him impishly and laughed in a softer voice.
“Thanks, Big Boy,” she said.
The proprietor with his half-shut eyes and low voice strolled by.
“Would you boys like a drop of something—or perhaps a little game?”
The minister did not understand.
“Whiskey and gambling,” grinned Matthew. The minister stirred uneasily and looked at his watch. They stayed on, ordering twenty-five-cent ginger ale at a dollar a bottle and gay sandwiches at seventy-five cents apiece, and a small piece at that.
“Honest,” said the minister, “I’m not going to preach against cabarets and dance halls any more. They preach against themselves. There’s more real fun in a church festival by the Ladies’ Aid!” Then he glanced again at his watch.
“Good Lord, I must go—it’s three o’clock, and I must leave for Philadelphia at six.”
Matthew laughed and they arose. As they passed out, the dancing girl glided by Matthew again and slipped her hand in his.
“Come and dance, Big Boy,” she said. Her face was hard and older than her limbs, but her eyes were kind. Matthew hesitated.
“Goodbye,” he said to the minister, “hope to see you again some time soon.”
He went back with the girl.