There was a patter of applause, and a young negro came forward, and in a strident, music-hall voice, sung or rather recited with many gestures the ditty.  He could n’t have been much older than Joe, but already his face was hard with dissipation and foul knowledge.  He gave the song with all the rank suggestiveness that could be put into it.  Joe looked upon him as a hero.  He was followed by a little, brown-skinned fellow with an immature Vandyke beard and a lisp.  He sung his own composition and was funny; how much funnier than he himself knew or intended, may not even be hinted at.  Then, while an instrumentalist, who seemed to have a grudge against the piano, was hammering out the opening bars of a march, Joe’s attention was attracted by a woman entering the room, and from that moment he heard no more of the concert.  Even when the master of ceremonies announced with an air that, by special request, he himself would sing “Answer,”—­the request was his own,—­he did not draw the attention of the boy away from the yellow-skinned divinity who sat at a near table, drinking whiskey straight.

She was a small girl, with fluffy dark hair and good features.  A tiny foot peeped out from beneath her rattling silk skirts.  She was a good-looking young woman and daintily made, though her face was no longer youthful, and one might have wished that with her complexion she had not run to silk waists in magenta.

Joe, however, saw no fault in her.  She was altogether lovely to him, and his delight was the more poignant as he recognised in her one of the girls he had seen on the stage a couple of weeks ago.  That being true, nothing could keep her from being glorious in his eyes,—­not even the grease-paint which adhered in unneat patches to her face, nor her taste for whiskey in its unreformed state.  He gazed at her in ecstasy until Thomas, turning to see what had attracted him, said with a laugh, “Oh, it ’s Hattie Sterling.  Want to meet her?”

Again the young fellow was dumb.  Just then Hattie also noticed his intent look, and nodded and beckoned to Thomas.

“Come on,” he said, rising.

“Oh, she did n’t ask for me,” cried Joe, tremulous and eager.

His companion went away laughing.

“Who ’s your young friend?” asked Hattie.

“A fellah from the South.”

“Bring him over here.”

Joe could hardly believe in his own good luck, and his head, which was getting a bit weak, was near collapsing when his divinity asked him what he ’d have?  He began to protest, until she told the waiter with an air of authority to make it a little “’skey.”  Then she asked him for a cigarette, and began talking to him in a pleasant, soothing way between puffs.

When the drinks came, she said to Thomas, “Now, old man, you ’ve been awfully nice, but when you get your little drink, you run away like a good little boy.  You ’re superfluous.”

Thomas answered, “Well, I like that,” but obediently gulped his whiskey and withdrew, while Joe laughed until the master of ceremonies stood up and looked sternly at him.