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Updated: June 16, 2025
Now if you call a Memphis man a Jelly-bean he will quite possibly pull a long sinewy rope from his hip pocket and hang you to a convenient telegraph-pole. If you Call a New Orleans man a Jelly-bean he will probably grin and ask you who is taking your girl to the Mardi Gras ball.
The East, gray when Jelly-bean entered the garage, became a rich and vivid blue as he turned on his solitary electric light. He snapped it out again, and going to the window rested his elbows on the sill and stared into the deepening morning. With the awakening of his emotions, his first perception was a sense of futility, a dull ache at the utter grayness of his life.
Down in Georgia there is a feeling perhaps inarticulate that this is the greatest wisdom of the South so after a while the Jelly-bean turned into a poolhall on Jackson Street where he was sure to find a congenial crowd who would make all the old jokes the ones he knew. The glazed eye of the tired reader resting for a second on the above title will presume it to be merely metaphorical.
Clark was silent and the Jelly-bean continued: "I reckin maybe after Aunt Mamie dies I could sink that money of mine in the farm and make somethin' out of it. All my people originally came from that part up there. Had a big place." Clark looked at him curiously. "That's funny," he said. "This this sort of affected me the same way." The Jelly-bean hesitated.
Then he laughed and as he reached his door began to sing softly to himself: "Her Jelly Roll can twist your soul, Her eyes are big and brown, She's the Queen of the Queens of the Jelly-beans My Jeanne of Jelly-bean Town." At nine-thirty, Jim and Clark met in front of Soda Sam's and started for the Country Club in Clark's Ford.
A street-fair farther down a brilliant alley of varicolored booths and contributed a blend of music to the night an oriental dance on a calliope, a melancholy bugle in front of a freak show, a cheerful rendition of "Back Home in Tennessee" on a hand-organ. The Jelly-bean stopped in a store and bought a collar.
Then there were the cherry trees in the back yard, and the berry bushes, not to speak of sundry bags of small, hard candies of the jelly-bean variety, fitted for quick and secret munching during school. She liked good things to eat, this sturdy little girl, as did her friend, that blonde and creamy person, Bella Weinberg. The two girls exchanged meaningful glances during the evening service.
The Jelly-bean walked out on the porch to a deserted corner, dark between the moon on the lawn and the single lighted door of the ballroom. There he found a chair and, lighting a cigarette, drifted into the thoughtless reverie that was his usual mood.
"I don't mean the wedding reckon that's all right, though I don't guess Nancy cared a darn about him. But it's a crime for a nice girl like that to hurt her family that way." The Jelly-bean let go the car and turned away. Again something was going on inside him, some inexplicable but almost chemical change. "Where you going?" asked Clark.
The latter was probably an unconscious ennui, a half-frightened sense of adventure. And now Jim was soberly thinking it over. He began to sing, drumming his long foot idly on a stone block in the sidewalk till it wobbled up and down in time to the low throaty tune: "One smile from Home in Jelly-bean town, Lives Jeanne, the Jelly-bean Queen.
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