The Washington times., 1938-07-06

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naturally wasn't going to force
myself on him. But he needs me
now and I'm not going to let him
down. If you won't help me I'll
go to that Coney Island cabaret
myself"
agreed to go with her. To-
gether with Sammy who knew
the location of the dive, we piled
into the car and instructed my
chauffeur to drive the bus to
the limit.
In less than forty minutes we
were in Coney Island. The car
pulled up at a three7story,
wooden building that was going
to pieces. 1t was on the edge of
the island, right near the smell
of Gravesend Bay. The house
was dark, but Sammy told us
that was because they kept the
place heavily curtained.
We found ourselves on a dis
NAL street, abandoned, except
for furtive figures who lurked in
the shadows and who looked
mighty ominous. The walks
weren't even paved and we had
to walk on a stretch of sand to
reach the cabaret. I ordered the
chauffeur to summon assistance
if we weren't out in ten minutes.
you hafta knock on that side
door there" instructed Sammy.
Its worse than them old speak
easies used to be. The guy what
runs this spot is a fence"
The three of us maneuvered
our way to the side door and l
gave it two knocks. After a
breathtaking wait, the door
finally opened and in the dim
light saw the figure of a fat
slattern who looked US over care
fully.
WATCH YOUR STEP"
ddya want?" she
growled. Amt nobody here.
Everybody's asleep" Her eyes
were heavy with suspicion.
well" started to say, but
Sammy broke in. We're all
right, leddy," he said. We're
friends of Mike the Beat. He
told us to drop in here any time
we was dry"
The slattern put her hands on
her hipS and surveyed us again,
still doubtful. We'll" she said,
If Mike the Beat sent you >. :"
Sure, we're all right" con-
firmed Sammy.
Hope you don't feel In
suited" said the witch, have to
keep a sharp lookout for strang-
ers. Come on in"
The three OF us entered and
started going down q flight OF
stairs. Watch your STEP" the
hag cracked, ironically.
l held on to Harriet tightly.
She was trembling with fear and
anxienty and pity for Biff. What
an end some musicians come to,
l said to myself, as we finally
navigated the broken stairs and
entered the den proper. 1t was
a tiny spot less than fifty feet
long, full of round beer-soiled
tables. The ceiling was so low
l had to stoop as our escort
conducted us to a table in the
corner.
The dive was heavy with Gig
arctic smoke. Around us were
seated ugly-looking gentry and
their danes. The customers
eyed us suspiciously.
We're lucky" whiSpere d
Sammy, "if we don't get a shiv
in our backs. This reminds me
of some of them prohibition
jobs I had. When I wasn't beat
ing the hides, I was making gin
in the back :"
"Sh," said, somebody might
hear"
What are you havin'?" the
old woman asked.
Sammy and I ordered beers.
Nothing" Harriet said.
The haze of smoke was so
thick we could not make Biff
out at first. But gradually we
sighted his bent figure on the
other side of the room. His
proud shock of red hair now lay
like a stiff mat on his head, his
back was bowed, his clarinet
was held down humbly. Once,
Biff had loved to hold his clari-
net outstretched into the air,
blowing defiance. as it were, to
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