U.S.A_ - John Dos Passos [181]
He was just about to break in when the man in the
door spoke to him in cracked cockney. "You give the blighter five pesos for his trouble, mytey, an' we'l settle this hup between wahte men." Joe shel ed out what silver he had in his pocket and Paquito went.
Joe fol owed the limey into the front hal that smelt. of cabbage and frying grease and wash day. When he got inside he put his hand on Joe's shoulder and said, blowing stale whiskeybreath in his face, "Wel , mytey, 'ow much can you afford?" Joe drew away.
"Twenty American
-7-dol ars's al I got," he said through his teeth. The limey shook his head, "Only four quid
. . . wel , there's no
'arm in seein' what we can do, is there, mytey? Let?s see it." While the limey stood looking at him Joe took off his belt, picked out a couple of stitches with the smal blade of his jackknife and pul ed out two orangebacked American bil s folded long. He unfolded them careful y and was about to hand them over when he thought better of it and put them in his pocket. "Now let's take a look at the paper," he said grinning. The limey's redrimmed eyes looked tearful; he said
we ought to be 'elpful one to another and gryteful when a bloke risked a forger's hend to
'elp 'is fel ow creatures. Then he asked Joe his name, age and birthplace, how long he'd been to sea and al that and went into an inside room, careful y locking the door after him. Joe stood in the hal . There was a clock ticking some-where. The ticks dragged slower and slower. At last Joe heard the key turn in the lock and the limey came out with two papers in his hand. "You oughter realize what I'm doin' for yez, mytey. . . ." Joe took the paper. He wrin-kled his forehead and studied it; looked al right to him. The other paper was a note authorizing Titterton's Marine Agency to garnishee Joe's pay monthly until the sum of ten pounds had been col ected. "But look here you," he said, "that makes seventy dol ars I'm shel ing out." The limey said think of the risk he was tyking and 'ow times was
'ard and that arfter al he could tyke it or leave it. Joe fol owed him into the paperlittered inside room and leaned over the desk and signed with a fountain pen. They went downtown on the streetcar and got off at
Rivadavia Street. Joe fol owed the limey into a smal office back of a warehouse. " 'Ere's a smart young 'and for you, Mr. McGregor," the limey said to a biliouslooking Scotchman who was walking up and down chewing his
nails.
-8-Joe and Mr. McGregor looked at each other. "Ameri-can?" "Yes." "You're not expectin'
American pay I'm supposin'?"
The limey went up to him and whispered something;
McGregor looked at the certificate and seemed satisfied.
"Al right, sign in the book. . . . Sign under the last name." Joe signed and handed the limey the twenty dol-lars. That left him flat. "Wel , cheeryoh, mytey." Joe hesitated a moment before he took the limey's hand. "So long," he said.
"Go get your dunnage and be back here in an hour," said McGregor in a rasping voice.
"Haven't got any dun-nage. I've been on the beach," said Joe, weighing the cigarbox in his hand. "Wait outside then and I'l take you aboard the Argyle by and by." Joe stood for a while in the warehouse door looking out into the street. Hel , he'd seen enough of B.A. He sat on a packingcase marked Tib-bett & Tibbett, Enameled Ware, Blackpool, to wait for Mr. McGregor, wondering if he was the skipper or the mate. Time sure would drag al right til he got out of B.A.
THE CAMERA EYE (28)
when the telegram came that she was dying (the
streetcarwheels screeched round the bel glass like al the pencils on al the slates in al the schools) walking around Fresh Pond the smel of puddlewater wil owbuds in the raw wind shrieking streetcarwheels rattling on loose trucks through the Boston suburbs grief isnt a uniform