Zora Neale Hurston, "Muttsy" (1926)
Awarded One-half of Second Prize in Short Story Section—Opportunity Contest
The piano in Ma Turner’s back parlor stuttered and wailed. The pianist kept time with his heel and informed an imaginary deserter that “she might leave and go to Halimufack, but his slow-drag would bring her back,” mournfully with a memory of tom-toms running rythm through the plaint.
Fewclothes burst through the portieres, a brown chrysalis from a dingy red cocoon, and touched the player on the shoulder.
“Say, Muttsy,” he stage whispered, ‘““Ma’s got a new lil’ biddy in there—just come. And say—her foot would make all of dese Harlem babies a Sunday face.”
“Whut she look like?” Muttsy drawled, trying to maintain his characteristic pose of indifference to the female.
“Brown skin, patent leather grass on her knob, kinder tallish. She’s a lil’ skinny,” he added apologetically, “but ah’m willing to buy corn for that lil’ chicken.”
Muttsy lifted his six feet from the piano bench as slowly as his curiosity would let him and sauntered to the portieres for a peep.
The sight was as pleasing as Fewclothes had stated—only more so. He went on in the room which Ma always kept empty. It was her receiving room—her “front.”
From Ma’s manner it was evident that she was very glad to see the girl. She could see that the girl was not overjoyed in her presence, but attributed that to southern greenness.
“Who you say sentcher heah, dearie?” Ma asked, her face trying to beam, but looking harder and more forbidding.
“Uh-a-a man down at the boat landing where I got off—North River. I jus’ come in on the boat.”
Ma’s husband from his corner spoke up.
““Musta been Bluefront.”’
“Yeah, musta been him,” Muttsy agreed.
“Oh, it’s all right, honey, we New Yorkers likes to know who we'se takin’ in, dearie. We has to be keerful. Whut did you say yo’ name was?”
“Pinkie, yes, mam, Pinkie Jones.”
Ma stared hard at the little old battered reticule that the girl carried for luggage—not many clothes if that was all—she reflected. But Pinkie had everything she needed in her face—many, many trunks full. Several of them for Ma. She noticed the cold-reddened knuckles of her bare hands too.
“Come on upstairs to yo’ room—thass all right ‘bout the price—we’ll come to some ’greement tomorrow. Jes’ go up and take off yo’ things.’
Pinkie put back the little rusty leather purse of another generation and followed Ma. She didn’t like Ma—her smile resembled the smile of the
Wolf in Red Riding Hood. Anyway back in Eatonville, Florida, “ladies,” especially old ones, didn't put powder and paint on the face.
‘“Forty-dollars-Kate sure landed a pippin’ dis time,” said Muttsy, sotto voce, to Fewclothes back at the piano.” “If she ain't, then there ain’t a hound dawk in Georgy. Ah’m goin’ home an’ dress.”
No one else in the crowded back parlor let alone the house knew of Pinkie’s coming. They danced on, played on, sang their “blues” and lived on hotly their intense lives. The two men who had seen her—no one counted ole man Turner—went on playing too, but kept an ear cocked for her coming.
She followed Ma downstairs and seated herself in the parlor with the old man. He sat in a big rocker before a copper-lined gas stove, indolence in every gesture.
“Ah’m Ma’s husband,” he announced by way of making conversation.
“Now you jus’ shut up!” Ma commanded severely. “You gointer git yo’ teeth knocked down yo’ throat yit for runnin’ yo’ tongue. Lemme talk to dis gal—dis is mah house. You sets on the stool un do nothin’ too much tuh have anything tuh talk over!”
“Oh, Lawd,” groaned the old man feeling a knee that always pained him at the mention of work. “Oh, Lawd, will you sen’ yo’ fiery chariot an’ take me ’way from heah?”
“Aw shet up!” the woman spit out. “Lawd don’t wantcher—devil wouldn’t have yuh.” She peered into the girls face and leaned back satisfied.
“Well, girlie, you kin be a lotta help tuh me ‘round dis house if you takes un intrus’ in things —oh Lawd!” She leaped up from her seat. “That’s mah bread ah smell burnin! . . . "
No sooner had Ma’s feet cleared the room than the old man came to life again. He peered furtively after the broad back of his wife.
**Know who she is,” he asked Pinkie in an awed whisper. She shook her head. ‘You don’t? Dat's Forty-dollars-Kate!”
“Forty-dollars-Kate?” Pinkie repeated open eyed. “Naw, I don’t know nothin’ "bout her.”
“Sh-h” cautioned the old man. “Course you don’t. I fuhgits you aint nothin’ tall but a young ‘un. Twenty-five years ago they all called her dat ‘cause she wuz ‘Forty-dollars-Kate.’ She sho’ wuz some p’utty ’oman—great big robus’ lookin’ gal. Men wuz glad ’nough to spend forty dollars on her if dey had it. She didn’t lose no time wid dem dat didn’t have it.”
He grinned ingratiatingly at Pinkie and leaned
nearer. “But you’se better lookin’ than she ever wuz, you might—taint no tellin’ whut you might do ef you git some sense. I’m a gointer teach you, hear?”
“Yessuh,” the girl managed to answer with an almost paralyzed tongue.
“Thass a good girl. You jus’ lissen to me an’ you'll pull thew alright.”
He glanced at the girl sitting timidly upon the edve of the chair and scolded,
“Don’t set dataway,” he ejaculated. “Yo’ back bone ain’t no ram rod. Kinda scooch down on the for'ard edge uh de chear lak dis.” (He demonstrated by “scooching”’ forward so far that he was almost sitting on his shoulder-blades.) The girl slumped a trifle.
“Is you got a job yit?”
“Nawsuh,” she answered slowly, “but I reckon I'll have one soon. Ain't been in town a day yet.”
“You looks kinda young—kinda little biddy. Is you been to school much?”
“Yessuh, went thew eight reader. again when I get a chance.”
“Dat so? Well ah reckon ah kin talk some Latin tuh yuh den.”” He cleared his throat loudly. “Whut’s you entithum?”
“I don’t know,” said the girl in confusion.
“Well, den, whut’s you entrimmins,”’ he queried with a bit of braggadocia in his voice.
“I don’t know,” from the girl, after a long awkward pause.
“You chillun don’t learn nothin’ in school dese days. Is you got to “goes into” yit?”
“You mean long division?”
“Ain’t askin’ ’bout de longness of it, dat don’t make no difference,”’ he retorted, “Sence you goin’ stay heah ah’ll edgecate yuh—do yuh know how to eat a fish—uh nice brown fried fish?”
“Yessuh,” she answered quickly, looking about for the fish.
“How?”
“Why, you jus’ eat it with corn bread,” she said, a bit disappointed at the non-appearance of the fish.
“Well, ah’ll tell yuh,” he patronized. “You starts at de tail and liffs de meat off de bones sorter gentle and eats him clear tuh de head on dat side; den you turn ’im ovah an’ commence at de tail agin and eat right up tuh de head; den you push dem bones way tuh one side an’ takes another fish an’ so on ’till de end—well, 'till der ain’t no mo’!”
He mentally digested the fish and went on. “See,” he pointed accusingly at her feet, “you don’t even know how tuh warm yoself! You settin’ dere wid yo’ feet ev’y which a way. Dat ain’t de way tuh git wahm. Now look at mah feet. Dass right put bofe big toes right togethah—now shove ‘em close up tuh de fiah; now lean back so! Dass de way. Ah knows uh heap uh things tuh teach yuh sense you gointer live heah—ah learns all of ’em while de ole lady is paddlin’ roun’ out dere in de yard.”
Ma appeared at the door and the old man withdrew so far into his rags that he all but disappeared. They went to supper where there was fried fish but forgot all rules for eating it and just ate heart- git some sense. I’m a gointer teach you, hear?”
“Yessuh,” the girl managed to answer with an almost paralyzed tongue.
“Thass a good girl. You jus’ lissen to me an’ you'll pull thew alright.”
He glanced at the girl sitting timidly upon the edve of the chair and scolded,
“Don’t set dataway,” he ejaculated. “Yo’ back bone ain’t no ram rod. Kinda scooch down on the for'ard edge uh de chear lak dis.” (He demonstrated by “scooching”’ forward so far that he was almost sitting on his shoulder-blades.) The girl slumped a trifle.
“Is you got a job yit?”
“Nawsuh,” she answered slowly, “but I reckon I'll have one soon. Ain't been in town a day yet.”
“You looks kinda young—kinda little biddy. Is you been to school much?”
“Yessuh, went thew eight reader. again when I get a chance.”
“Dat so? Well ah reckon ah kin talk some Latin tuh yuh den.”” He cleared his throat loudly. “Whut’s you entithum?”
“I don’t know,” said the girl in confusion.
“Well, den, whut’s you entrimmins,”’ he queried with a bit of braggadocia in his voice.
“I don’t know,” from the girl, after a long awkward pause.
“You chillun don’t learn nothin’ in school dese days. Is you got to “goes into” yit?”
“You mean long division?”
“Ain’t askin’ ’bout de longness of it, dat don’t make no difference,”’ he retorted, “Sence you goin’ stay heah ah’ll edgecate yuh—do yuh know how to eat a fish—uh nice brown fried fish?”
“Yessuh,” she answered quickly, looking about for the fish.
“How?”
“Why, you jus’ eat it with corn bread,” she said, a bit disappointed at the non-appearance of the fish.
“Well, ah’ll tell yuh,” he patronized. “You starts at de tail and liffs de meat off de bones sorter gentle and eats him clear tuh de head on dat side; den you turn ’im ovah an’ commence at de tail agin and eat right up tuh de head; den you push dem bones way tuh one side an’ takes another fish an’ so on ’till de end—well, 'till der ain’t no mo’!”
He mentally digested the fish and went on. “See,” he pointed accusingly at her feet, “you don’t even know how tuh warm yoself! You settin’ dere wid yo’ feet ev’y which a way. Dat ain’t de way tuh git wahm. Now look at mah feet. Dass right put bofe big toes right togethah—now shove ‘em close up tuh de fiah; now lean back so! Dass de way. Ah knows uh heap uh things tuh teach yuh sense you gointer live heah—ah learns all of ’em while de ole lady is paddlin’ roun’ out dere in de yard.”
Ma appeared at the door and the old man withdrew so far into his rags that he all but disappeared. They went to supper where there was fried fish but forgot all rules for eating it and just ate heartily. She helped with the dishes and returned to the parlor. A little later some more men and women knocked and were admitted after the same furtive peering out through the nearest crack of the door. Ma carried them all back to the kitchen and Pinkie heard the clink of glasses and much loud laughter.
Women came in by ones and twos, some in shabby coats turned up about the ears, and with various cheap but showy hats crushed down over unkempt hair. More men, more women, more trips to the kitchen with loud laughter.
Pinkie grew uneasy. Both men and women stared at her. She kept strictly to her place. Ma came in and tried to make her jein the others.
“Come on in, honey, a lil’ toddy ain’t gointer hurt nobody. Evebody knows me, ah wouldn't touch a hair on yo’ head. Come on in, dearie, all th’ men wants tuh meetcher.”
Pinkie smelt the liquor on Ma’s breath and felt contaminated at her touch. She wished herself back home again even with the ill treatment and squalor. She thought of the three dollars she had secreted in her shoe—she had been warned against pickpockets—and flight but where? Nowhere. For there was no home to which she could return, nor any place else she knew of. But when she got a job, she’d scrape herself clear of people who took toddies.
A very black man sat on the piano stool playing as only a Negro can with hands, stamping with his feet and the rest of his body keeping time.
“Naw, indeedy,” cut in Fewclothes. “It jes’ means you feet needs to walk in some strange water —wid a lil’ read seal lye thowed in.
But he was not to have a monopoly. Fewclothes and Shorty joined the chase and poor Pinkie found it impossible to retreat to her place beside the old man. She hung her head, embarrassed that she did did not understand their mode of speech; she felt the unfriendly eyes of the women, and she loathed the smell of liquor that filled the house now. The piano still rumbled and wailed that same song— “Carried me down on de Smoky Road
Brought me back on de coolin’ board Ahm gointer make me a graveyard of mah own.”
A surge of cold, fresh air from the outside stirred the smoke and liquor fumes and Pinkie knew that the front door was open. She turned her eyes that way and thought of flight to the clean outside. The door stood wide open and a tall figure in an overcoat with a fur collar stood there.
“Good Gawd, Muttsy! Shet ’at do’,” cried Shorty. “Dass a pure razor blowing out dere tonight. Ah didn’t know you wuz outa here nohow.”
“Carried me down on de Smoky Road
Brought me back on de coolin’ board
Ahm gointer make me a graveyard of mah own,” sang Muttsy, looking as if he sought someone and banged the door shut on the last words. He strode on in without removing hat or coat.
Pinkie saw in this short space that all the men deferred to him, that all the women sought his notice. She tried timidly to squeeze between two of the men and return to the quiet place beside old man Turner, thinking that Muttsy would hold the attention of her captors until she had escaped. But Muttsy spied her through the men about her and joined them. By this time her exasperation and embarrassment had her on the point of tears.
“Well, whadda yuh know about dis!” he exclaimed, “A real lil’ pullet.”
“Look out dere, Muttsy,” drawled Dramsleg with objection, catching Pinkie by the arm and trying to draw her toward him. ‘Lemme tell dis lil’ Pink Mama how crazy ah is ‘bout her mahself. Ah ain’t got no lady atall an’—”
“Aw, shut up Drams,” Muttsy said sternly, “put yo’ pocketbook where yo’ mouf is, an’ somebody will lissen. Ah’m a heavy-sugar papa. Ah eats fried chicken when the rest of you niggers is drinking rain water.”
He thrust some of the others aside and stood squarely before her. With her downcast eyes, she saw his well polished shoes, creased trousers, gloved hands and at last timidly raised her eyes to his face.
“Look a heah!” he frowned, “you roughnecks done got dis baby ready tuh cry.”
He put his forefinger under her chin and made her look at him. And for some reason he removed his hat.
“Come on in the sittin’ room an’ Ie’s talk. Come on befo’ some uh dese niggers sprinkle some salt on yuh and eat yuh clean up lak uh radish.” Dramsleg looked after Muttsy and the girl as they swam through the smoke into the front room. He beckoned to Bluefront.
“Hey, Bluefront! Ain’t you mah fren’?”
“Yep,” answered Bluefront.
“Well, then why cain’t you help me? Muttsy done done me dirt wid the lil’ pig-meat—throw a louse on ‘im.”
Pinkie’s hair was slipping down. She felt it, bur her selfconsciousness prevented her catching it and down it fell in a heavy roll that spread out and covered her nearly to the waist. She followed Muttsy into the front room and again sat shrinking in the corner. She did not wish to talk to Mutts) nor anyone else in that house, but there were fewer people in this room.
“Phew!” cried Bluefront, “dat baby sho got some righteous moss on her keg—dass reg’lar ‘nearrow mah Gawd tuh thee’ stuff.” He made a lengthy gesture with his arms as if combing out long, silky hair.
“Shux,” sneered Ada in a moist, alcoholic voice. “Dat ain’t nothin’ mah haih useter be so’s ah could set on it.”
There was general laughter from the men.
“Yas, ah know it’s de truth!” shouted Shorty. “It’s jes’ ez close tuh yo’ head now ez ninety-nine is tuh uh hund’ed.”
“Ah’ll call Muttsy tuh you.” Ada threatened.
“Oh, ’oman, Muttsy ain’t got you tuh study bout no mo’ cause he’s parkin’ his heart wid dat lil’ chicken wid white-folks’ haih. Why, dat lil’ chicken’s foot would make you a Sunday face.”
General laughter again. Ada dashed the whiskey glass upon the floor with the determined stalk of an angry tiger and arose and‘started forward.
“Muttsy Owens, uh nobody else ain’t to gointer make no fool outer me. Dat lil’ kack girl ain't gointer put me on de bricks—not much.”
Perhaps Muttsy heard her, perhaps he saw her out of the corner of his eye and read her mood. But knowing the woman as he did he might have known what she would do under such circumstances. At any rate he got to his feet as she entered the room where he sat with Pinkie.
“Ah know you ain’t lost yo’ head sho’ ‘nuff, ‘oman. "Deed, Gawd knows you bettah go ‘way f'um me.” He said this in a low, steady voice. The music stopped, the talking stopped and even the drinkers paused. Nothing happened, for Ada looked straight into Muttsy’s eyes and went on outside.
“Miss Pinkie, Ah votes you g'wan tuh bed,” Muttsy said suddenly to the girl.
“Yes-suh.”
“An’ don’t you worry "bout no job. Ah knows where you kin git a good one. Ah’'ll go see em first an’ tell yuh tomorrow night.”
She went off to bed upstairs. The rich baritone of the pianoplayer came up to her as did laughter and shouting. But she was tired and slept soundly.
Ma shuffled in after eight the next morning. “Darlin’, ain’t you got ’nuff sleep yit?”
Pinkie opened her eyes a trifle. “Ain't you the puttiest lil’ trick! An’ Muttsy done gone crazy ‘bout yuh! Chile, he’s lousy wid money an’ diamon’s an’ everything— Yuh better grab him quick. Some folks has all de luck. Heah ah is—got uh man dat hates work lak de devil hates holy water. Ah gotta make dis house pay!”
Pinkie’s eyes opened wide. Muttsy do?”
“Mah Gawd, chile! He’s de bes’ gambler in three states, cards, craps un hawses. He could be a boss stevedore if he so wanted. The big boss down on de dock would give him a fat job—just begs him to take it cause he can manage the men. He's the biggest hero they got since Harry Wills left the waterfront. But he won't take it cause he makes so much wid the games.”
“He’s awful good-lookin,” Pinkie agreed, ‘“‘an’ he heen mighty nice tuh me—but | like men to work. | wish he would. Gamblin’ ain’t nice.”
“Yeah,’tis, ef you makes money lak Muttsy. Maybe yo ain’t noticed dat diamon’ set in his tooth. He picks women up when he wants tuh an’ puts °em down when he choose.”
Pinkie turned her face to the wall and shuddered. Ma paid no attention.
“You doan hafta git up till you git good an’ ready, Muttsy says. Ah mean you kin stay roun’ the house ’till you come to, sorter.”
Another day passed. Its darkness woke up the land east of Lenox—all that land between the railroad tracks and the river. It was very ugly by day, and night kindly hid some of its sordid homeliness. Yes, nightime gave it life.
‘The same women, or others just like them, came to Ma Turner's. The same men, or men just like them, came also and treated them to liquor or mistreated them with fists or cruel jibes. Ma got half drunk as usual and cried over everyone who would let her.
Muttsy came alone and went straight to Pinkie where she sat trying to shrink into the wall. She had feared that he would not come.
“Howdy do, Miss Pinkie.”
“How’do do, Mistah Owens,” she actually achieved a smile. “Did you see bout m’job?”
“Well, yeah—but the lady says she won't needya fuh uh week yet. Doan’ worry. Ma ain’t gointer push yuh foh room rent. Mah wrist ain't got no cramps.”
Pinkie half sobbed: “Ah wantsa job now!”
“Didn’t ah say dass alright? Well, Muttsy doan lie. Shux! Ah might jes’ es well tell yuh—ahm crazy "bout yuh—money no objeck.”
It was the girl herself who first mentioned “bed” this night. He suffered her to go without protest.
The next night she did not come into the sitting room. She went to bed as soon as the dinner things had been cleared. Ma begged and cried, but Pinkie pretended illness and kept to her bed. This she repeated the next night and the next. Every night
“What does Mr.
Muttsy came and every night he added to his sartorial splendor; but each night he went away, disappointed, more evidently crestfallen than before.
But the insistence for escape from her strange surroundings grew on the girl.
When Ma was busy elsewhere, she would take out the three one dollar bills from her shoe and reconsider her limitations. If that job would only come on! She felt shut in, imprisoned, walled in with these women who talked of nothing but men and the numbers and drink, and men who talked of nothing but the numbers and drink and women. And desperation took her.
One night she was still waiting for the job— Ma’s alcoholic tears prevailed. Pinkie took a drink. She drank the stuff mixed with sugar and water and crept to bed even as the dizziness came on. She would not wake tonight. Tomorrow, maybe, the job would come and freedom.
The piano thumped but Pinkie did not hear; the shouts, laughter and cries did not reach her that night. Downstairs Muttsy pushed Ma into a corner.
“Looky heah, Ma. Dat girl done played me long enough. Ah pays her room rent, ah pays her boahd an’ all ah gets is uh hunk of ice. Now you said you wuz gointer fix things—you tole me so las’ night an’ heah she done gone tuh bed on me agin.”
“Deed, ah caint do nothin’ wid huh. She’s thinkin’ sho’ nuff you goin’ git her uh job and she fret so cause tain’t come, dat she drunk uh toddy un hits knocked her down jes lak uh log.”
“Ada an’ all uh them laffin—they say ah done crapped.” He felt injured. “Caint ah go talk to her?”
“Lawdy, Muttsy, dat gal dead drunk an’ sleepin’ lak she’s buried.”
“Well, caint ah go up an’—an’ speak tuh her jus’ the same.”” A yellow backed bill from Muttsy’s roll found itself in Ma’s hand and put her in such good humor that she let old man Turner talk all he wanted for the rest of the night.
“Yas, Muttsy, gwan in. Youse mah frien’.”
Muttsy hurried up to the room indicated. He felt shaky inside there with Pinkie, somehow, but he approached the bed and stood for awhile looking down upon her. Her hair in confusion about her face and swinging off the bedside; the brown arms revealed and the soft lips. He blew out the match he had struck and kissed her full in the mouth, kissed her several times and passed his hand over her neck and throat and then hungrily down upon her breast. But here he drew back.
“Naw,” he said sternly to himself, “ah ain’t goin’ ter play her wid no loaded dice.” Then quickly he covered her with the blanket to her chin, kissed her again upon the lips and tipped down into the darkness of the vestibule.
“Ah reckon ah bettah git married.” He soliloquized. “B’lieve me, ah will, an’ go uptown wid dicties.’
He lit a cigar and stood there on the steps puffing and thinking for some time. His name was called inside the sitting room several times but he pretended not to hear. At last he stole back into the room where slept the girl who unwittingly and unwillingly was making him do queer things. He tipped up to the bed again and knelt there holding her hands so fiercely that she groaned without waking. He watched her and he wanted her so that he wished to crush her in his love; crush and crush and hurt her against himself, but somehow he resisted the impulse and merely kissed her lips again, kissed her hands back and front, removed the largest diamond ring from his hand and slipped it on her engagement finger. It was much too large so he closed her hand and tucked it securely beneath the covers.
“She’s mine!”
mine!”
He switched off the light and softly closed the
door as he went out again to the steps. He had
gone up to the bed room from the sitting room
boldly, caring not who knew that Muttsy Owens
took what he wanted. He was stealing forth
afraid that someone might suspect that he had been
there. There is no secret love in those barrens; it is
a thing to be approached boisterously and without
delay or dalliance. One loves when one wills, and
ceases when it palls. There is nothing sacred or
hidden—all subject to coarse jokes. So Muttsy
re-entered the sitting room from the steps as if he
had been into the street.
“Where you been Muttsy?” whined Ada with an
awkard attempt at coyness.
“What you wanta know for?” he asked roughly.
“Now, Muttsy you know you ain’t treatin’ me
right, honey. How come you runnin’ de hawg
ovah me lak you do?”
“Git outa mah face ’oman. Keep yo’ han’s offa
me.” He clapped on his hat and strode from the
house.
Pinkie awoke with a gripping stomach and
thumping head.
Ma bustled in. “How yuh feelin’ darlin?
Youse jes lak a li’l dol baby.”
“I got a headache, terrible from that ole whiskey.
Thass mah first und las’ drink long as I live.” She
felt the ring.
“Whut’s this?” she asked and drew her hand out
to the light.
“Dat’s Muttsy’ ring. Ah seen him wid it fuh
two years. How’d y’all make out? He sho is one
thur’bred.”
“Muttsy? When? I didn’t see no Muttsy.”
“Dearie, you doan’ hafta tell yo’ bizniss ef you
doan wanta. Ahm a hush-mouf. Thass all right,
keep yo’ bizniss to yo’ self.”” Ma bleared her eyes
wisely. “But ah know Muttsy wuz up heah tuh
see yuh las’ night. Doan’ mine me, honey, gwan
wid ’im. He'll treat yuh right. Ah snows he’s
crazy ‘bout yuh. An’ all de women is crazy ‘bout
him. Lawd! lookit dat ring!” Ma regarded it
greedily for a long time, but she turned and walked
toward the door at last. “Git up darlin’. Ah got
fried chicking fuh breckfus’ un mush melon.”
She went on to the kitchen. Ma’s revelation
sunk deeper, then there was the ring. Pinkie hurled
the ring across the room and leaped out of bed.
“He ain’t goin’ to make me none of his women—
I'll die first! I’m goin’ outa this house if I starve,
lemme starve!”
She got up and plunged her face into the cold
He said triumphantly. “All
water on the washstand in the corner and hurled
herself into the shabby clothes, thrust the three
dollars which she had never had occasion to spend,
under the pillow where Ma would be sure to find
them and slipped noiselessly out of the house and
fled down Fifth Avenue toward the Park that
marked the beginning of the Barrens. She did not
know where she was going, and cared little so long
as she removed herself as far as possible from the
house where the great evil threatened her.
At ten o'clock that same morning, Muttsy Owens
dressed his flashiest best, drove up to Ma’s door in
a cab, the most luxurious that could be hired. He
had gone so far as to stick two one hundred dollar
notes to the inside of the windshield. Ma was
overcome.
“Nluttsy, dearie, what you doin’ heah so soon?
Pinky sho has got you goin’. Un in a swell cab
too—gee!”
“Ahm gointer git mah’ried tuh de doll baby, thass
how come. An’ ahm gointer treat her white too.”
“Umhumh! Thass how come de ring! You
oughtn’t never fuhgit me, Muttsy, fuh puttin’ y’all
together. But ah never thought you'd mah’ry no-
body—you allus said you wouldn't.”
“An’ ah wouldn’t neither ef ah hadn’t of seen
her. Where she is?”
“In de room dressin’. She never tole me nothin’
‘bout dis.”
“She doan’ know. She wuz sleep when ah made
up mah mind an’ slipped on de ring. But ah never
miss no girl ah wants, you knows me.”
“Everybody in this man’s town knows you gets
whut you wants.”
“Naw, ah come tuh take her to brek’fus "fo we
goes tuh de cote-house.”
‘An’ y'all stay heah and eat wid me. You go
call her whilst ah set de grub on table.”
Muttsy, with a lordly stride, went up to Pinkie’s
decor and rapped and waited and rapped and
waited three times. (Growing impatient or think-
ing her still asleep, he flung open the door and en-
tered.
The first thing that struck him was the empty
bed; the next was the glitter of his diamond ring
upon the floor. He stumbled out to Ma. She was
gone, no doubt of that.
“She looked awful funny when ah tole her you
wuz in heah, but ah thought she wuz puttin’ on
airs,”’ Ma declared finally.
“She thinks ah played her wid a marked deck,
but ah didn’t. Ef ah could see her she'd love me.
Ah know she would. ‘Cause ah’d make her,”
Muttsy lamented.
“T don’t know, Muttsy. She ain’t no New
Yorker, and she thinks gamblin’ is awful.”
“Zat all she got against me? Ah’ll fix that up
in a minute. You help me find her and ah’ll do
anything she says jus’ so she marries me.” He
laughed ruefully. ‘Looks like ah crapped this time,
don’t it, ma?”
The next day Muttsy was foreman of two hun-
dred stevedores. How he did make them work.