He passed
through the swinging gate in the railing which separated the
dancing-floor from the tables and went up to the line of girls,
sitting in that saddest waiting of all the world, along the wall.
There was an ominous silence at his approach. He planted himself
in front of the girl with eyes like Anna Klein.
"Are you going to dance?"
"Not with you," she replied, evenly. And again the ripple of
laughter spread.
"Why not?"
"Because you're a coward," she said. "I'd rather dance with a
Chinaman."
"If you think I'm here because I'm afraid to fight you can think
again. Not that I care what you think."
He had meant to boast a little, to intimate that he had pulled off
a big thing, but he saw that he was ridiculous. The situation
infuriated him. Suddenly he burst into foul-mouthed invective,
until one of the girls said, wearily,
"Oh, cut that out, you slacker."
And he knew that no single word he had used against them, out of a
vocabulary both extensive and horrible, was to them so degraded as
that single one applied to him.
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