U.S.A_ - John Dos Passos [476]
. . . You won't have to worry about if the kids can go to col ege or not . . . goddam it, you an' the missis can go to col ege yourselves. . . . Check."
Charley put the receiver back on the desk. His secretary Miss Finnegan was standing in the door. She had red hair and a beautiful complexion with a few freckles round her little sharp nose. She was a snappy dresser. She was look-ing at Charley with her lightbrown eyes al moist and wide as he was laying down the law over the phone. Charley felt his chest puff out a little. He pul ed in his bel y as
-311-hard as he could. "Gosh," he was saying at the back of his head, "maybe I could lay Elsie Finnegan." Somebody had put a pot of blue hyacinths on his desk; a smel of spring came from them that al at once made him remember
Bar-le-Duc, and troutfishing up the Red River.
It was a flowerysmel ing spring morning again when
Charley drove out to the plant from the office to give the Anderson Mosquito its trial spin. He had managed to give Elsie Finnegan a kiss for the first time and had left her crumpled and trembling at her desk. Bil Cermak had said over the phone that the tiny ship was tuned up and in fine shape. It was a relief to get out of the office where he'd been fidgeting for a couple of hours trying to get through a cal to Nat Benton's office about some stock he'd wired them to take a profit on. After he'd kissed her he'd told Elsie Finnegan to switch the cal out to the trial field for him. It made him feel good to be driving out through the halfbuilt town, through the avenue jammed with trucks ful of construction materials, jockeying his car among the trucks with a feeling of shine and strength at the perfect action of his clutch and the smooth response of the gears. The gatekeeper had the New York cal for him. The con-nection was perfect. Nat had banked thirteen grand for him. As he hung up the receiver he thought poor little Elsie, he'd have to buy her something real nice. "It's a great day, Joe, ain't it?" he said to the gatekeeper. Bil was waiting for him beside the new ship at the en-trance to the hangar, wiping grease off his thick fingers with a bunch of waste. Charley slapped him on the back.
"Good old Bil . . . . Isn't this a great day for the race?" Bil fel for it. "What race, boss?
""The human race, you fathead. . . . Say, Bil ," he went on as he took off his gloves and his wel tailored spring overcoat, "I don't mind tel in' you I feel wonderful today . . . made thirteen grand on the market yesterday . . . easy as rol in' off a log."
-312-While Charley pul ed a suit of overal s on the me-chanics pushed the new ship out onto the grass for Bil to make his general inspection. "Jesus, she's pretty." The tiny aluminum ship glistened in the sun out on the green grass like something in a jeweler's window. There were dandelions and clover on the grass and a swirling flight of little white butterflies went up right from under his black clodhoppers when Bil came back to Charley and stood beside him. Charley winked at Bil Cermak standing be-side him in his blue denims stolidly looking at his feet.
"Smile, you sonofabitch," he said. "Don't this weather make you feel good?" Bil turned a square bohunk face towards Charley.
"Now look here, Mr. Anderson, you always treat me good
. . . from way back Long Island days. You know me, do work, go home, keep my face shut.""What's on your mind, Bil ? . . . Want me to try to wangle another raise for you?
Check."
Bil shook his heavy square face and rubbed his nose with a black forefinger. "Tern Company used to be good place to work good work good pay. You know me, Mr. Anderson, I'm no bolshayvik . . . but, no stoolpigeon either."
"But damn it, Bil , why can't you tel those guys to have a little patience . . . we're workin'
out a profitsharin'
scheme. I've worked on a lathe myself. . . . I've worked as a mechanic al over this goddam country. . . . I know what the boys are up against, but I know what the management's up against too. . . . Gosh, this thing's in its in-fancy,