“That’s ‘Pig-Foot Mary’—she’s making lots of money at that little stand and she’s saving it, too,” Mrs. Rogers informed Mimi.
She was thrilled by the new scene. Gone was the morbid, morose, worried air of the people she had encountered at the other end of the subway. Here there was spontaneous laughter, shrewd observations which brought loud and free laughter from listeners. There was an exhilarating sense here that these people knew the secret of enjoying life. Black and brown and yellow faces flitted by, some carefree, some careworn. Mimi sensed again the essential rhythm, the oneness of these variegated colours and moods. It was all vivid, colourful, of a pattern distinctive and apart, and she warmed to the friendliness of it all. …
Behind them stood two flashily dressed coloured men as they took it all in. The voice of one worried, the other conciliatory.
“Say, Sam, I sent the fifty dollars and my application to Jim Washington like you told me to,” the worried voice complained, “and I ain’t heard nothing a-tall from him or the Idlehour Social Club either.”
“Ain’t you heard you was blackballed?” the other inquired with a markedly incredulous air.
“No, I ain’t. I wonder who could’ve blackballed me,” he speculated, the worry in his tones increasing. “There’s Pudd’n Jones—he’s a friend of mine and he wouldn’t do that to me. And there’s Babe Carter and Spider and Bill Johnson—they’re friends of mine and they wouldn’t blackball me, I know. Say, was there many black balls in that box?” he inquired, hopefully.
“You’ve seen a bowl of Russian caviar, ain’t you?” his friend asked.
“Yeh—but what’s that got to do with them blackballing, me?”
“Well, boy, just this—that box when they voted on your name looked just like a bowl of caviar.” …