“If you call me that again, you big bum, I’ll punch you in the nose,” the blonde warned as her eyes protruded, blazing with fire. “I’ll have you know I’m a lady, I am!” “Well, who said you wasn’t?” “You did!” she persisted. “You called me a—a—well, don’t say that again!” “Say what?” Lefty demanded to know. “What you just called me!” “What did I call you?” “I don’t know what it meant,” the girl admitted, “but if it was as bad as it sounded, my brother would make you eat those words, if he was here!” Lefty yawned and stretched his arms, already tired from the effects of the bartender’s loaded drink. “Aw, be a reg’lar feller, kiddo, an’ give’sh a tune!” “You like my voice?” the blonde asked, changing her tone to the ingratiating pitch so familiar with her type. “Do I like it? I love it!” Lefty bellowed, much to the amusement of the white patrons seated at tables near by. “I think you have a better voice than—than—let me think. Oh, yeah! Better than Galli Curci!” “Galli Curci?” the entertainer repeated as a puzzled expression lighted upon her face. “Who’s that guy, Galli Curci?” “You don’t know old Galli?” Lefty asked in a high pitch of astonishment, and the blonde shook her head negatively. “Well, if you must know, let me enlighten you; Galli—old Galli Curci was the bes’ Russian bicycle rider in Brooklyn!” A roar of laughter came from the tables occupied by the Americans. Lefty rose with much difficulty, bearing a silly grin and bowing to his encouraging audience. The girl at the piano moved about uncomfortably, the lines in her face hardening and her eyebrows knitting in a frown. “Say, bozo, I gotta feelin’ you’re trying to razz me!” she announced. “And I don’t mind tellin’ you, brother, I don’t like it!” “Who, me?” Lefty protested innocently enough. “Yes, you! Now cut the comedy. If you want another number, either put up or shut up!” “Okay, baby!” Lefty announced, digging down into his pocket and bringing forth a roll of bills, peeling one off and dropping it into the lap of the performer. “Shoot!” The boy’s roll of money was of such considerable size that Rosa, who had picked up an acquaintance with a new arrival, who seemed to gloat over her amorous antics, left the man without further ado and returned to the boy just as he placed the bills back in his pocket. “You got sometink for Rosa?” she begged, her face again illuminated by a beaming smile. [Illustration: “You got sometink for Rosa?” she begged of Lefty.] “Naw, go on away!” he replied with impatience, pushing the girl from him, “I wanna hear my baby here sing!” The blonde folded the bill and placed it in her dress, then touched the white ivory keys and once more burst aloud in sentimental song. “Rosa, she dance for her brave Americano soldado, you watch!” “I don’ wanna watch,” he protested. “Go ’way, woman; you draw flies!” “But Rosa, she dance for you!” the girl insisted, using every bit of will power she possessed to hold back her rising temper.