“Who’s the fellow over there the one with the black hair who looks like a Japanese?” Mimi queried, now thoroughly interested. She scanned the flaming chequer-board of colour, picking out the ones who interested her.
“Where is he? Oh, that’s Tod James—he’s assistant cashier of a bank down in the financial district. He’s married white but ever so often the call of Harlem is too great and he bobs up here again. He’s had an amazing career—born in Texas, was mixed up in two or three revolutions in Mexico and South America, has travelled all over the world, made and lost three or four fortunes, and now has settled down to a comfortable, placid existence in Wall Street.”
“Does his wife know he’s coloured?”
“That’s she dancing down there with the slender brown chap—looks like she knows what he is. And she was born in Tennessee but had sense enough not to stay there.”
“And who’s the flashily dressed fellow standing there looking on?”
“I don’t know his name but he runs a club where they have entertainers and music for dancing—they call them cabarets. You’ll find all sorts of people here—it’s a pay dance and anybody who’s got the price can get in. There are women who are being kept and men who live the same way, doctors and lawyers, and about every class in the world represented here.”
Mimi felt a thrill of adventure run through her. Perhaps she had brushed against some of these fearful characters and it made her tingle with adventure.
“Goodness, haven’t they any lines they draw?” she wanted to know.
“Strictest in the world—you’ve noticed you’ve been asked to dance only by folks you know and who move with our set.”