CHAPTER THIRTEEN

_Enter--Mr. Tom Toddy!_

When Legs had pawned and lost about all he possessed, he happened upon a job at one of the hotels, and went to work. To do so, however, he had to secure a white jacket, and a pair of black trousers. This was somewhat difficult on account of his long legs, but he managed to secure an old pair, and, too glad of the chance to work where he could fill his stomach regularly, he gave good service, and was soon on the good side of the head waiter.

"Say, Books," he cried one day, soon after he had commenced work. "You should have seen me eat today. Nice hot bisquits with butter, and dripping out around the edges, um-um. Man, the way I did eat! I got all them nigga's t' laffin' over somethin' funny I said, and then I'd slip back into the kitchen, open the oven and get me a half dozen hot rolls and butter'm good, and eat, and eat, and eat!

"There is but one thing I can't seem to get over, and that is that dollar this nigga Moore got me out of bed to lose. Say, that hurt me worse than anything in this world. I've drawn the line on him now though. He ain't nothing but an old always broke coon, a-moochin' around for somebody to stake him in a game. I could have made it all right when I came over here, if it hadn't been for him. And he never won anything, and kept me broke as long as I would speak to him."

In a very short time Legs was "on his feet," as the saying goes. He was making some money and spending it all. His good resolution with regard to gambling had been laid on the shelf until further declarations, and he shot craps whenever off duty, and when he could find a game. Moore he ignored; but that worthy was as fond of the game as a pig was of corn, so they occasionally ran into each other, nevertheless. In fact, as Sidney observed them, almost every Negro shot craps, with few exceptions. Whiskey and craps were so much in evidence everywhere he looked, that he drew this conclusion soon.

Now a man lived overhead, and rented from the landlady, whose name was Murphy. Wyeth called him "Smoked Irish." He was a creature with a dark record, so Wyeth was told, and he hailed from a little town in the state adjoining. Some years before, he had been a man of considerable importance, but with women and other pastimes, he had fallen into bad ways, was sent to the penitentiary for fraud, and had sought other parts after the expiration of his term.

As Wyeth knew him, he was a "bahba," and shaved chins and sheared wool in one of Effingham's fancy Negro shops.

Murphy had seen almost fifty summers, was about five feet eleven, and a mulatto with coarse, stiff, black hair, tinged with gray. His features were set, like a man with experience, and he could tell some wonderful stories. The Mis' called them lies. They might have been, but it is to Murphy's credit that they were good ones, and interesting to listen to.

On Sunday, and week days also, when he was home from the shop, and in his loft, Murphy sold whiskey on the side--or as a side line, and operated a crap game in addition. The law, of course, did not permit of this, as we shall see presently; but--well, it didn't matter--as long as the law didn't know it. And Murphy made money, Wyeth was told. It was up there Legs invested most of his earnings, winning once in a while, but losing more frequently. The fact that Murphy was so convenient with his diversion, was, in a sense, helpful to Legs, because he didn't have to journey far to his bed. And always as soon as he was "cleaned," he would retire and sleep as peacefully as a babe, until his work called him the following morning.

John Moore was a frequent visitor also. Legs put Wyeth wise, when he inquired why Moore was up there so often, since he appeared to have no money. "He's a piker, a cheap piker that touts for Murphy, for the privilege of gambling and gettin' a drink a liquah, that he loves so well."

Much to the surprise of them all, one Saturday night about this time, Moore did make a winning. Legs informed Wyeth to this effect, when he retired from the battle "clean."

"Seven dollars and a half, the dirty devil. And he'll be as scarce as hen's teeth as long as he has a dime of it too." He was mistaken. That was on Saturday night. Sunday morning after he had risen and had some good whiskey, Moore dressed himself like a gentleman, and made some of the losers envy him for a few hours. Then he went back upstairs to Murphy's. When Wyeth saw him again, he was sitting under a shade tree, reading the Bible. This was a self-evident fact that he had made an investment. As further evidence of the fact, that night at supper he offered a beautiful prayer. He had failed to do so that morning, which was further proof of Legs' contention.

Legs came up while Moore was reposing sanctimoniously, and said: "M-m! Cleaned, eh! Glad of it, the cheap sucker. He's dead broke, too. Because if he had even a nickel, he'd be upstairs. You can bet a nickel up there. The only thing against it is Murphy's cut. He cuts a nickel a pass. And sometimes he cuts both ways, going and coming. So, with men betting a nickel against a nickel, Murphy is liable to take it all."

Moore retired early that evening, and slept peacefully. He had worked hard the night before, and that morning.

The following Saturday night, Legs came to the room, caught Wyeth half asleep, and borrowed a dollar. With this, he went for a joy ride, and got drunk into the bargain. Wyeth didn't realize that he had loaned him a dollar, until the other was whizzing down the street in the car. And then he was angry with himself. This disturbed him until sleep was impossible, so, rising, he betook himself to the porch. As he thought it over, he became more angry with himself than ever, because he knew Legs had borrowed it for the sole purpose of getting drunk and joy riding. While he was getting over it in the soft night air, the Mis' told him Legs had got paid that day, and, with the exception of what he paid her, he had lost the remainder of his two weeks' wage in a game. That made him more angry, and, in seeking a diversion, he rose, and out of curiosity, he decided to pay Murphy's den a visit.

Murphy had a good crowd that night--he usually did on Saturday. In a room that was near the middle of the apartment, surrounded by a crowd of Negroes, stood a table over which was spread a green cloth. At one side of the table sat Moore, and he called the points and fished the cuts; while in another room to the rear of this, with doors open, stood a large refrigerator. This, Wyeth surmised, was where the liquor was kept. It was, for, as he was looking, Murphy approached it, opened it, took therefrom several bottles of beer, and served it to the many gamesters who were working hard, and perspiring freely.

The green cloth, which at one time had decorated a pool table, was, as he now observed, employed to deaden the sound of the rolling dice, that slid over it from some perspiring palm. Not any large amount was upon the table; but many one dollar bills could be seen in the palms of the gamesters. Another roomer downstairs, and who read a great deal, was on hand and shot craps too. This was something of a surprise, since he was apparently very intelligent; but, as Wyeth learned later, literary training did not make them ignore the game by any means. As he stood watching, the dice passed to Glenview, the intelligent roomer. He made a point, and then threw seven before he came back to it. The winners picked up the money. Wyeth was relieved to see the dice pass to another Negro, who had been fidgeting about impatiently. He caught them up, and blew his breath on them, as they were held in his palm, before throwing them before him across the table. Wyeth advanced closer as the game became more excited. Glenview had thrown the dice, much as Wyeth had observed the white people did back in the _Rosebud Country_--for they shot craps there as well. But now, with a "clea' dy way, I'm a comin'," he let them roll.

"Throwed eight!" cried Moore.

"Eight I throwed! Now dice, do it again!"

"T' click-i-lick-lick-lick, 'ah eight!"

"Throw-e-d ten!"

"Haf 'e cain' hit!"

"Ah got yu!"

"Qua'ta' mo' I'n make it!" exclaimed the shooter, hesitating with upraised hand, but shaking the dice in them the while, and throwing a quarter across the table.

"Ah'll take yu'!" cried a burley on the other side.

"Shoot the dice, nigga, shoot the dice," commanded Moore.

"T-click-i-lick-i-lick 'ah-ha-eight!"

"Throwed five!"

"Ain' no eight on 'nem dice!"

"T-click-i-click-i-click 'ah, eaighter from Decatur!'"

"Throwed seben!"

"Ke-hu!"

"Tole yu he coul'n't make it!" cried a big dinge. "Now gimme dem dice!"

"Bet a quata!"

"Make it a haf!"

"Ah take yu!"

"Shoot the dice, nigga, shoot the dice!"

"Yeh. Cut out d' awgument 'n' let'm roll, let'm roll!"

"Gimme room heah 'cause ah kicks!" He did too. Raising his left foot he stamped the floor with it, kicking backward viciously at the same time with the other. He caught a Negro on the shins, which made that worthy angry with pain, whereupon he turned, and let the other have a good one in the usual place. For a time the game was threatened with a fight; but Murphy, who appeared to understand them quite well, interfered with success.

"T-click-i-lick-i-lick, 'ah, seben ah 'leben!'"

"Throwed craps!"

"Ya-ha! Makin' all da fuss 'n' lose d' fus' shot!"

"Dem dice 's crooket," he muttered.

"Yuz a liah," cried one of the winners, as if afraid they were, and he would not get his bet.

"Yuse a cheap nigga," said Moore. "Stand aside."

Next came a little Negro, with a nose that began at the ears, and peepy eyes which observed the dice suspiciously. He was displeased with the looks of them, evidently. They were a large white pair, and which, so 'tis said, can be loaded. He threw them across the table without making his bet, saying: "Ah gotta paih mah own," and produced from his pocket, a pair of huge celluloid ones, that were beautiful in the electric light.

"Haf t' use the house's dice, cain't substitute," advised Moore, judiciously.

"Why caint ah, I'd lak t' know. Why caint ah!" he exclaimed, beginning to perspire.

Moore started to say more, but Murphy came forward now, with "Let me see them." He took them carefully in his hand, held them between his eyes and the light, tossed them about, and then threw them on the table. "They're all right," and walked away. The little dinge grabbed them eagerly, rubbed them together fondly, blew his breath on them, and then, raising his hand above his head, he made a peculiar rattle and threw them bouncing and jumping across the table. The Negroes about had been observing him with ill omen, and now, as the dice jumped before them like little red devils, they sparkled in the light, and made their eyes blink.

"Throwed seven!" cried Moore.

"Dogone nigga's 's lucky 's 'e 's ugly," grumbled a loser.

"Shoot it all!" he cried, hesitating with the dice in his hand.

"Ah'll take it!"

"Haf 'e cain' hit!"

"Ah fate yu!"

"Let'm roll, let'm roll!"

"T-click-i-lick-i-lick, ah baby dolls!"

"Throwed five!"

"Raise ut t' a dollah!"

"Make ut sebenty-five!"

"Let'm roll!"

"T-click-i-lick-i-lick, ah, phoebe!"

"Throwed five!"

"Um-m-m-m-m!"

"T-click-i-lick-lick! a-ha dice!"

"Throwed seben!"

"Jes' look ut dat fool nigga, good Gawd!"

"Sech luck, sech luck, sech luck!"

"Shoot it all!"

"Fate dis nickel," begged a loser, with a whimper.

"Trow it out d' windu' shine!"

"Now watch dis 'leben!" cried the guy with the luck.

"Aw, Lawdy, Lawdy, Lawdy, jes' look ut dat nigga agin!"

"Nigga, dem dice yu' shootin' uz sho God crooket!"

"Shoot it all!" Five dollars was the size of the pot now. It was like five hundred to the eyes that now saw it.

"Whu, whu, whu!" He blew on them; while with murder in their eyes, the losers watched.

"I'll take it," said Glenview calmly. He placed a five dollar bill over the amount that lay upon the table. Several had now gone broke, while others declared silently, that he was a hoo-doo, and feared to risk him. Several little bets were made on the side, but no one was willing to risk much against such luck as he had displayed.

"Now, Anne Jane, bring home du' bacin!" he cried, as he let them bounce on the table. It seemed an age to the lookers before they stopped somewhat to the far side. A six and a five. Eleven. He had won again. There was no comment now. Every one was silent, and surveyed him, as if he were the clouds.

"Shoot it all," he cried again. A bit of muttering went the rounds before any one ventured to cover it.

"'E cain' keep ut up, 'e cain' keep ut up," declared one who held only three dollars out of a ten dollar bill a few minutes before. He threw a dollar viciously toward him. After much parley, others joined; John Moore saw Murphy's back, eased a dollar from the cuts, and added it to the pool. Twenty dollars was now the stake, and it was like a million to those that saw it.

The winner now uncoated himself. He had on nothing beneath the coat but an undershirt. He flung his hat in the corner, revealing a little sharp head, shaven clean and upon which the light dazzled like a smoked opal. As Wyeth observed him, he was reminded of an ape, if he had ever seen one. He took plenty of time, as though anticipating something. Rolling up his sleeve, he exposed a pair of sinewy arms that made the crowd exchange glances. Sidney was standing near the window. At this moment he happened to look out. From up the street came a sound of merry rollicking. No other appeared to hear.

The dice were now tumbling over the table in their fateful quest. More than a dozen pairs of brown eyes blinked dryly at them, as the red material flickered beautifully. Wyeth now looked carefully in the direction of the sound, and finally caught the outline of Legs. From the distance, he saw that he was loaded. He was covering considerable space--so much so that it would have been extremely difficult to have passed him on the walk, which was narrow. And behind him came another. He was about half the height of Legs, as they now appeared. Wyeth recognized him as the runt, and his name was Tom Toddy, at least, that is what they called him about a hotel that was patronized by Negroes, and where he acted as a sort of goat and flunky. Wyeth had had his life threatened on one occasion by him. It was because he had called him "Graveyard." He was old, bald-headed and measly. So this epithet seemed quite appropriate. And, thereupon, Toddy had threatened to send him into eternity, if he addressed him again in such terms. He had a load also.

On they came, and for the time Wyeth forgot the game. Toddy was now beside Legs, and they embraced like man and wife. As Wyeth smiled at the spectacle, they began to sing.

"It's a long, long way to Temporary,"

and as they came on, they changed it to:

"We're a long, long way from home."

Wyeth laughed now almost outright; but those behind him never heard. They heard only, and saw with all eyes, that the apish creature had won again, and had strapped the crowd to cover the next bet he was now shooting for.

Legs and Toddy had reached the curbing, and, not seeing it, they tumbled over into the sand-covered street. As they picked themselves up, they sang lowly:

"You made me what I am today, So I guess you're satisfied."

On toward the house they now came, singing at intervals. Presently they stepped upon the porch, and rattled the knob. The door was always kept locked during such proceedings. From the lower end of town, a rooster crowed long and loud; while, at the same moment, a clock from some remote tower struck two. The dice tumbled onward to their fatal end, and Legs kicked the door a bang.

In the still night, it sounded like the discharge of a cannon.

Then here came a lull. All became so quiet that the ticking of a clock upon the mantel sounded like the pounding of a hammer. Faces turned about and eyes looked into each other. They were all colors and a sight to see. The little Negro, coolest all the while, eased the money into his jeans, as the others cried all at once:

"The bulls!"

And now began the scramble, and it was a mighty one.

Under the table went many, whereupon it turned over, and revealed them all wiggling like so many eels. To the room containing the refrigerator, went a half dozen others and closed the door. John Moore stood in the center of the room where he had been deserted by the others, his knees hitting together with a sound like rocks. Cold fear, for he was an awful coward, held him like a vise. Into the closets; into Murphy's bedroom went some more, and piled in a hurry into the bed, whereupon it gave way with a loud crash, mixing many in a nasty, smothered mass, where they tried to extricate themselves with much difficulty.

And, in the meantime, the kicking continued. "Let me in! Let me in! What in Hell!" cried Legs, and it was punctuated with a piping from Tom Toddy.

"Yes,"--he was very proper--"open up! Open up! This is a He-ll uv a way to treat two gentlemen!"

John Moore was still doing the dazzle; but, now upon hearing the voices, he gathered enough courage to stand erect, and then he turned hurriedly and running to a rear window, put his feet out, jumped out full upon the soft dirt below, and landed without injury, apparently, for, a moment later, Wyeth heard him running around the house in the direction of the kicking. He didn't permit the miscreants to see him, until he had made out fully that they were not officers. When he had made sure they were not blue-coats, he advanced on them from the rear, and took them by surprise. He appeared unable to frame words of denunciation strong enough, but at last he made it. His voice was subdued when he did speak, he was so angry.

"Yeu! Yeu! Y-e-u long-legged nigga! Yeu liver eatin' bunch a-meat! And you! You little dried shrimp! Git ready t' die, 'cause 's sho 's I'm a nigga, I'm going t' part you from this earth t'night!"

They turned now, for a moment sober, and looked at him. He went on with his tirade.

"Makin' all this noise down heh, 'n' scarrin' everybody t' death, 'n' a-breakin' up the game! This is wha' you all 'n' me meets our Jehovah!"

Legs was now too near the edge, and, suddenly with a catching to save himself, which Moore construed as an advance upon him, he went overboard with a mighty tumble.

To this day, however, John Moore didn't know it was an accident. He didn't wait to investigate. A long pair of legs, with a long body on top of them was all he cared to see, and when they landed, he was going around the corner of the house and into the kitchen.

His hurry up ingress awakened the Mis', who bolted out of bed, and demanded to know what was up.

"The devil's up--on the front porch, a-raisin' cain."

"What are you talkin' 'bout!"

"That long-legged nigga from Attalia a-comin in heh a-kickin' on the door, and a-scarrin everybody outta the' senses!" he told her, much excited, and with his back against the door, not failing to listen in the meantime.

Wyeth descended the stair now, opened the street door, admitting Legs and Toddy. Legs entered first, while Toddy, blinking blindly, followed suit with a grip on his coat tail.

"Where is he," cried Legs. "I mean John Moore! I want to kill him! Death for him is the campaign for tonight! From this earth he's got to part! Where is he! Show him to me now, and in a minute I'll show you his heart, the skunk."

In some way, Moore did not hear this; but stood at the rear looking for Legs from that direction; and, in the meantime, declaring to the Mis' what he was going to do.

"I'm go'n throw that nigga out tonight! To-night, or I'll die tomorra, so help me Jaysus!"

Legs, who had entered his bedroom which opened into the kitchen, overheard this last. He now tore off his coat and hat, which Tom Toddy held, and forthwith sought Moore with a mighty oath. Glenview put in his appearance now from the rear, and kept Legs out of the kitchen, which fact sufficed for John Moore to make words. Our pen fails to describe this in detail.

"Git yo things 'n' go!" cried Moore near the door, and positive that Glenview was between them. "Leave mah house at once!"

"Oh, hush! Hush! Hush!" interposed the Mis'.

"Leave, leave, to-night!"

"Just let me get to him, just let me get to him! I want to eat'm," begged Legs.

"Yeh; let us have him. We're going t' skin him," squeaked Tom Toddy.

"This is terrible," cried the Mis'.

"Just let me get my fingers on the tramp, and it'll be all over in a minute," Legs begged.

"All but the funeral," assisted Toddy.

"Orderin' somebody out of _his_ house. You ain' nothin' but the flunky anywhere. If I was in charge here, I'd make you sleep under the bed!"

"I'd make him sleep under the house, the lousy rat," cried Toddy.

"Ah said you leave this house now," cried Moore. "These ah the orders from me. From me-e!"

"The Mis' ain' said nothin'," Legs cried again.

"Leave, leave, before I tear yu' t' pieces," Moore raved, stamping his foot.

At that moment, Legs gave Glenview a push that sent him reeling, and with a lunge, he cornered Moore. That worthy was frightened into Hades. He was speechless. Legs smiled on him as he reached out and got him by the ears. Grasping them tight, he essayed a bumping process against the wall with his head.

"Have you got him, boy?" inquired Toddy, making sure before he ventured forth with a small knife. "What shall I do to the sucker now? Just tell me, and I'll proceed to take off his nose or his lips; either one of them will make good dog meat."

"You shouldn't have come home disturbing everybody like this," said the Mis', and seemed hurt. This had effect on Legs, who was always considerate of the ladies.

"I'm sorry for you, Mis'; but I've had it in for this hunk a meat, ever since he got me out of bed to lose my last dollar." He emphasized the remark by another bumping.

"I'm a poor widow woman without protection, and you are ruining the only way I have of making a living." That was enough. He forgot John Moore for a second, and the next moment that worthy was locked in an adjoining room. Here he went into a tirade. Legs forgot the Mis' now and sought him, but the door was locked and bolted.

"Git yo things 'n' go nigga!" he cried boldly now, from his safe retreat.

"If you had called, or knocked, I would have come and opened the door, as I always do. There was no call for all this!" remonstrated the Mis'.

"Don't lock me out, don't lock me out!" Legs raged.

"Git yo things and go, dy'e hear," from the retreat. Legs now became angry with the Mis'.

"Gimme a dollar Mis' and I'll go. If that thing in the other woom there is running this place, I don't want to stay."

"Git yo things 'n' go!"

"Gimme a dollar!"

"You ought to have known better than to create such a disturbance," the Mis' said.

"Gimme a dollar!" from Legs again.

"Let's get another drink!" from Toddy.

"I've always treated you like a gentleman."

"Gimme a dollar!" "Gimme a dollar 'n' a haf!"

"What we go'n give you a dollar 'n' a haf fo'?"

"I paid room rent in advance last Wednesday."

"Now! Here!" cried the Mis', "all of you go to bed and forget this noise."

"Ah'm go'n git 'n' officer, and have that long-legged nigga 'rested!" from within.

"Go to bed!" from the Mis'.

"Go'n have who arrested?" exclaimed Legs, mad all over again.

"'F you do'n git out at once, I'm go'n throw you out!"

"If I ever get my hands on you again, you old cheap nigga; you old broken nigga; you moochin' piker; you pot a-neck-bone stew!"

"Say," cried one of the roomers, just then, "a pair of bulls are coming down the street!"

That was the end of it.