U.S.A_ - John Dos Passos [319]
Passing the Bourse they met Don Stevens, who had
just come out of the telegraph office. He was sore and tired. He'd been up since five o'clock. "If they're going to have a riot why the hel can't they have it in time to make the cables. . . Wel , I saw Anatole France dis-persed on the, Place d'Alma. Ought to be a story in that
-324-except for al this damned censorship. Things are pretty serious in Germany . . . I think something's going to happen there."
"Wil anything happen here in Paris, Don?" asked Paul.
"Damned if I know some kids busted up those
gratings around the trees and threw them at the cops on the avenue Magenta. . . . Burnham in there says there are barricades at the end of the place de la Bastil e, but I'm damned if I'm going over til I get something to eat . . . I don't believe it anyway . . . I'm about foun-dered. What are you two bourgeois doing out a day like this?"
"Hey, fel owworker, don't shoot," said Paul, throwing up his hands. "Wait til we get something to eat," Eveline laughed. She thought how much better she liked Paul than she liked Don.
They walked around a lot of back streets in the driz-zling rain and at last found a little restaurant from which came voices and a smel of food. They ducked in under the iron shutter of the door. It was dark and crowded with taxidrivers and workingmen. They squeezed into the end of a marble table where two old men were playing chess. Eveline's leg was pressed against Paul's. She didn't move; then he began to get red and moved his chair a little. "Excuse me," he said.
They al ate liver and onions and Don got to talking with the old men in his fluent bad French. They said the youngsters weren't good for anything nowadays, in the old days when they descended into the street they tore up the pavings and grabbed the cops by the legs and pul ed them off their horses. Today was supposed to be a gen-eral strike and what had they done? . . . nothing . . . a few urchins had thrown some stones and one café win-dow had been broken. It wasn't like that that liberty de-fended itself and the dignity of labor. The old men went
-325-back to their chess. Don set them up to a bottle of wine. Eveline was sitting back halflistening, wondering if she'd go around to see J.W. in the afternoon. She hadn't seen him or Eleanor since that Sunday morning; she
didn't care anyway. She wondered if Paul would marry her, how it would be to have a lot of little babies that would have the same young coltish fuzzy look he had. She liked it in this little dark restaurant that smelt of food and wine and caporal ordinaire, sitting back and let-ting Don lay down the law to Paul about the revolu-tion. "When I get back home I guess I'l bum around the country a little, get a job as a harvest hand and stuff like that and find out about those things," Paul said final y. "Now I don't know a darn thing, just what I hear people say."
After they had eaten they were sitting over some glasses of wine, when they heard an American voice. Two M.P.'s had come in and were having a drink at the zinc bar.
"Don't talk English," whispered Paul. They sat there stiffly trying to look as French as possible until the two khaki uniforms disappeared, then Paul said, "Whee, I was scared .
. . they'd picked me up sure as hel if they'd found me without my uniform. . . . Then it'd have been the Roo Saint Anne and goodby Paree." "Why, you poor kid, they'd have shot you at sunrise," said Eveline. "You go right home and change your clothes at once . . . I'm going to the Red Cross for a while anyway."
Don walked over to the rue de Rivoli with her. Paul shot off down another street to go to his room and get his uniform. "I think Paul Johnson's an awful y nice boy, where did you col ect him, Don?" Eveline said in a casual tone. "He's kinder simple . . . unlicked cub kind of a kid . . . I guess he's al right . . . I got to know him when the transport section he was in was bil eted near us up in the Marne . . . Then he got this cush job in the Post Despatch Service and now he's studying