U.S.A_ - John Dos Passos [354]
Going to Paris on the train, Daughter real y was scared. The horseback riding hadn't done any good, and she was sore al over from a fal she'd had when one of Lieutenant Grassi's cavalry horses fel with her and broke his leg when she took him over a stone wal . The horse had to be shot and the Lieutenant had been horrid about it; these foreigners always showed a mean streak in the end. She was worried about people's noticing how she looked be-cause it was nearly three months now. She and Dick would have to get married right away, that's al there was to it. Perhaps it would even be better to tel people they'd been married in Rome by a fat little old priest. The minute she saw Dick's face when she was running down the corridor towards him in his hotel, she knew it was al over; he didn't love her the least bit. She walked home to her hotel hardly able to see where she was going through the slimywet Paris streets. She was surprised when she got there because she expected she'd lose her way. She almost hoped she'd lose her way. She went up to her room and sat down in a chair without taking off her
-406-dripping wet hat and coat. She must think. This was the end of everything. The next morning she went around to the office; they gave her her transportation back home and told her what boat she was going on and said she must sail in four days. After that she went back to the hotel and sat down in a chair again and tried to think. She couldn't go home to Dal as like this. A note from Dick came around giving her the address of a doctor.
Do forgive me, he wrote. You're a wonderful girl and I'm sure it'l be al right. She tore the thin blue letter up in little tiny pieces and dropped it out the window. Then she lay down on the bed and cried til her eyes burned. Her nausea came on and she had to go out in the hal to the toilet. When she lay down again she went to sleep for a while and woke up feeling hungry.
The day had cleared; sunlight was streaming into the room. She walked downstairs to the desk and cal ed up G. H. Barrow in his office. He seemed delighted and said if she'd wait for him a half an hour, he'd come and fetch her out to lunch in the Bois; they'd forget everything ex-cept that it was spring and that they were beautiful pagans at heart. Daughter made a sour face, but said pleasantly enough over the phone that she'd wait for him.
When he came he wore a sporty grey flannel suit and a grey fedora hat. She felt very drab beside him in the darkgray uniform she hated so. "Why, my dearest little girl . . . you've saved my life," he said. "Su-su-spring makes me think of suicide unless I'm in lulu-love . . . I was feeling . . . er . . . er . . . elderly and not in love. We must change al that.""I was feeling like that too."
"What's the matter?""Wel , maybe I'l tel you and maybe I won't." She almost liked his long nose and his long jaw today. "Anyway, I'm too starved to talk.""I'l do al the talking . .
." he said laughing. "Alwawaways
-407-do anywawaway . . . and I'l set you up to the bububest meal you ever ate." He talked boisterously al the way out in the cab about the Peace Conference and the terrible fight the President had had to keep his principles intact. "Hemmed in by every sinister intrigue, by al the poisonous ghosts of se-cret treaties, with two of the cleverest and most unscrupu-lous manipulators out of oldworld statecraft as his opponents . . . He fought on . . . we are al