XIII

Despite the genial atmosphere of Pat’s pool room, the substantial good will of the table over which the varicolored ivory balls rolled, the cozy cheer of the green-shaded low-hung light, Jinx and Bubber could not discuss even the weather in agreement.

“Sho is hot,” Bubber had commented, missing a shot and wiping a glistening brow on his arm.

“Don’ blame d’ weather jes’ ’cause you can’t shoot pool,” returned Jinx. “I likes warm weather like this.”

“Can’t see what fo’.”

“Well⁠—we got to work outdoors, ain’t we?”

“Yea⁠—in d’ heat.”

“Aw right. In warm weather you kin find some place outdoors to cool off, but when it’s cold, damn if you kin find any place outdoors to git warm.”

“Cold weather fo’ mine,” disagreed Bubber.

“Shuh!”

“Yas suh. We got to wear clo’es, ain’t we?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, when it’s cold you kin put on enough to git warm, but when it’s hot, damn if you kin take off enough to git cool!”

Jinx pretended to ignore this unanswerable point by bending far and low over a long corner shot.

“Number eight,” he called, signifying his intention to pocket the black ball. “Sho loves to make this eight-ball⁠—jes’ like punchin’ you in d’ nose.” And he made it, cueing the ball with exaggerated vehemence.

Henry Patmore sauntered up. “Where’s yo’ boy?” he inquired.

“What you mean⁠—Shine?”

“Don’ mean his brother.”

“Hell,” said Bubber. “Ain’ see ’at boogy a single night sence d’ dance.”

“Jivin’ a dickty gal now,” explained Jinx, regarding the table critically, with a sidewise twist of his head. “Bringin’ me mud.”

“Yea?” said Pat.

“Dickty?” scoffed Bubber. “What’s dickty ’bout ’er?”

“Ev’ything,” said Jinx preparing to try a difficult combination, “⁠—compared to him.”

“Mean the gal he picked up at the Casino th’ other night?” asked Pat.

“Don’ mean her sister,” assented Bubber. “She ain’t nobody’s dickty, though. Powerful easy to look at but jes’ ordinary K.M. right on.”

“She may be a K.M.,” conceded Jinx, “but if they’s anything ordinary ’bout her, I ain’ seen it.”

“Got the big boy goin’, huh?” grinned Pat.

“Goin’ and comin’,” said Bubber; then to Jinx, “How long you go’n’ look at that ball, man? Go on⁠—shoot!”

“Who d’ hell’s makin’ this shot?”

“Ain’ nobody makin’ it, far as I kin see.”

Pat smiled metallically and moved off. Jinx called and shot, dispersing a cluster of balls, of which not one found its way into a pocket. Whereupon Bubber echoed their cackling laughter, revealing his stretch of bare upper gum between the two lateral stumps.

“One of these times when you laff like that,” prophesied Jinx with great ill-humour, “I’m go’n’ bus’ you in d’ mouth so hard you’ll grow yo’self some teeth.”

Bubber’s scorn was superlative. “You might stick out a fis’,” he warned, “but you won’t draw nothin’ back but a nub.” He busily chalked his cue, surveying the pattern of balls with enormous gravity.

“Yo’ laigs is so bowed,” Jinx observed, “that you wear yo’ shoes out on d’ sides. Better stop laffin’ at me like that. One of these times I bet I’m go’n’ run you knock-kneed.”

“I wouldn’ run that fas’,” returned Bubber, squatting to squint over the table, “after nobody.”

“Ain’ talkin’ ’bout after⁠—talkin’ ’bout from.”

“From?” Bubber stood erect. “Me run from you?”

“You do have bright moments, dark as you is.”

“Brother, let me tell you sump’m. If it ever even looks like I’m runnin’ from you, they won’t be but one explanation fo’ it.” Bubber paused oratorically. “Be ’cause you done outrun me so fas’ you mos’ caught up wid me ag’in.” Wherewith he made his shot.

Jinx solemnly shook his head. “It sho’ would be awful hard,” he said.

“What?”

“Awful hard on old man Isaacs.”

“What you talkin’ ’bout?”

“To lose two good men at once.”

“Boy, you done gone crazy?”

“No. I was jes’ thinkin’⁠—”

“Oh. Thass different.”

“⁠—I’m go’n’ have to kill you sooner or later⁠—only way to git along with y’. And that gal is jes’ ’bout ru’nt Shine⁠—he ain’ never go’n’ be no mo’ good.”

“Shuh!” scoffed the other. “She might scratch ’im a little, but ain’ no gal go’n’ put no deep dents in that jasper. He ain’t got no place soft enough.”

“The hell he ain’t. Know where I seen ’im goi’n’ tonight, dressed up like a monkey-back?”

“Where?”

“Seen ’im goin’ in ’at ’Piscopal church.”

Bubber stared a moment, then proceeded disgustedly with his sighting. “What d’hell you ’spect a man to believe?” he commented.

“Swear I did. Not d’ main door. You know that side door⁠—’nuther buildin’ it is, where they have dances and basketball and ev’ything else they scared to do in d’ church itself. Call it d’ immunity-house or sump’m like that.”

“Yea?” Bubber dropped his stick. So long as Shine hadn’t entered the main door of the church, the matter was credible enough to be startling.

“I sho did.”

Bubber slowly shook his head. “Bye-bye, blackbird.” Then, still somewhat suspicious, “Where was you when you saw ’im?”

“Followin’ ’im. Thought he might need some help if he was out sheikin’.”

“Well, kiss my Aunt Annie’s preserves!” Bubber pondered the imponderable a moment, slowly recovering his stick and most of his incredulity. “Aw, don’ be no fool. That jigaboo’s jes’ jivin’.”

“Maybe. But, same time, ain’ nuthin’ to hinder her from jivin’, too. And when two folks gits to jivin’ each other, first thing y’ know sump’m happens.”

“Sump’m go’n’ happen awright, but ’tain’ go’n’ happen to him.” Bubber resumed his survey of the balls scattered widely by Jinx’s miss. “Bet I’m go’n’ run off all the res’,” he wagered.

Jinx, however, had become philosophical. “Jes’ goes to show y’, see? There’s a guy what’s so big and hard he can’t be had. Mos’ these gals ’round hyeh tries they damnedest to make him⁠—but he jes’ don’ fall. No mo’n he fell that time Spider Webb cut at him and missed and nearly got broke in two. So hard. So hard his spit bounces. Says to me⁠—say, ‘Jinx you speckled-hide awstrich you, women ain’ no different from men⁠—only worse. You gotta be tough and tight, boy. Once they see you slippin’, it’s yo’ hiney from then on⁠—they’ll put d’ locks on you and throw d’ key away. But if you be hard with ’em, they ain’ no trouble ’tall.’ Yea. And then this one come along. She’s diff’runt, see? Act all dickty ’n ev’ything. High-hats ’im. K.M. awright⁠—but not jes’ ordinary K.M.⁠—Dickty K.M., see? That jes’ ’bout gits ’im. He gives up without a struggle.”

“How do you know he’s give’ up?” Bubber’s doubt persisted.

“Went in d’ damn church after ’er, didn’ he?”

“That ain’t nothin’. I’ve seen women I’d go in worse places ’n that after.”

“Yea?”

“No lie. And they wasn’t near as easy to gaze on as that sister, either. Dickty⁠—shuh⁠—that ain’t got nothin’ to do with it. It’s that ball-bearin’ movement, thass what.”

“Damn if it makes him run any smoother. One day he’s good natured as a puppy-dawg, ’nother he’s evil as a black cat. Never seen a man change so. She done put it on ’im all right.”

“Bet he go’n’ put sump’m on her, too.”

“Damn ’f I believe it. She’ll have ’im goin’ in d’ main door nex’. This is serious.”

“So’s this,” said Bubber, who had meanwhile run off seven balls, unnoticed. Thereupon, mimicking perfectly, he duplicated the shot which Jinx had made earlier with such exaggerated vehemence. The ball was the last on the table, and it sped to an already full pocket eagerly, greeting its fellows with a cheerful clack!

Bubber looked at his victim with a grin. Jinx frowned unbelievingly at the clean green table top and, as Bubber broke into his customary guffaw, stood scowling malevolence at him, as if undecided whether to dispose of him at once or let him live a little time longer.