U.S.A_ - John Dos Passos [388]
"We used to be great sweethearts when I was about six and he was a col egeboy." When they were al ready to go into dinner Ol ie, who'd had a couple more cocktails, spread out his arms and made a speech. "Look at them, lovely, intel igent, lively American women. . .
. There was nothing like that on the other side, was there, Char-ley? Three things you can't get anywhere else in the world, a good cocktail, a decent breakfast, and an American girl, God bless 'em.""Oh, he's such a darling," whispered Miss Humphries in Charley's ear.
There was silverware in rows and rows on the table and a Chinese bowl with roses in the middle of it, and a group of giltstemmed wineglasses at each place. Charley was relieved when he found he was sitting next to Miss Hum-phries. She was smiling up at him.
"Gosh," he said, grin-ning into her face, "I hardly know how to act." "It must
-14-be a change . . . from over there. But just act natural. That's what I do."
"Oh, no, a fel er always gets into trouble when he acts natural." She laughed. "Maybe you're right. . . . Oh, do tel me what it was real y like over there. . . . Nobody'l ever tel me everything." She pointed to the palms on his Croix de Guerre. "Oh, Lieutenant Anderson, you must tel me about those."
They had white wine with the fish and red wine with the roastbeef and a dessert al ful of whippedcream. Charley kept tel ing himself he mustn't drink too much so that he'd be sure to behave right.
Miss Humphries' first name was Doris. Mrs. Benton
cal ed her that. She'd spent a year in a convent in Paris before the war and asked him about places she'd known, the church of the Madeleine and Rumpelmayers and the pastryshop opposite the Comédie Française. After dinner she and Charley took their coffeecups into a windowbay behind a big pink begonia in a brass pot and she asked him if he didn't think New York was awful. She sat on the windowseat and he stood over her looking past her white shoulder through the window down at the traffic in the street below. It had come on to rain and the lights of the cars made long rippling streaks on the black pavement of Park Avenue. He said something about how he thought home would look pretty good to him al the same. He was wondering if it would be al right if he told her she had beautiful shoulders. He'd just about gotten around to it when he heard Ol ie Taylor getting everybody together to go out to a cabaret. "I know it's a chore," Ol ie was saying, "but you children must remember it's my first night in New York and humor my weakness."
They stood in a group under the marquee while the
doorman cal ed taxicabs. Doris Humphries in her long eveningwrap with fur at the bottom of it stood so close to
-15-Charley her shoulder touched his arm. In the lashing rainy wind off the street he could smel the warm perfume she wore and her furs and her hair. They stood back while the older people got into the cabs. For a second her hand was in his, very little and cool as he helped her into the cab. He handed out a half a dol ar to the doorman who had whispered " Shanley's" to the taxidriver in a serious careful flunkey's voice. The taxi was purring smoothly downtown between the
tal square buildings. Charley was a little dizzy. He didn't dare look at her for a moment but looked out at faces, cars, trafficcops, people in raincoats and umbrel as passing against drugstore windows.
"Now tel me how you got the palms."
"Oh, the frogs just threw those in now and then to keep the boys cheerful."
"How many Huns did you bring down?"
"Why bring that up?"
She stamped her foot on the floor of the taxi. "Oh, no-body'l ever tel me anything. . . . I don't believe you were ever at the front, any of you." Charley laughed. His throat was a little dry. "Wel , I was over it a couple of times."
Suddenly she turned to him. There were flecks of light in her eyes in the dark of the cab.
"Oh, I understand. . . . Lieutenant Anderson, I think you flyers are the finest people there are.""Miss Humphries, I think you're a
. . . humdinger. . . . I hope this taxi never gets to this dump