U.S.A_ - John Dos Passos [564]
"After al J. Ward Moorehouse isn't a man . . . it's a name. . . . You can't feel sorry when a name gets sick." Dick felt a rush of anger flush his head: "He's one of the sixty most important men in this country," he said.
"After al , Reggie, you're taking his money. . . ."
"Good God," cried Reggie. "The man on the high horse." Pat turned to Dick, laughing. "They seem to be getting mighty holy down there in Washington."
"No, you know I like to kid as wel as anybody. . . . But when a man like J. W. who's perhaps done more than
-512-any one living man, whether you like what he does or not, to form the public mind in this country, is taken il , I think sophomore wisecracks are in damn bad taste." Reggie was drunk. He was talking in phony southern
dialect. "Wha, brudder, Ah didn't know as you was Mista Moahouse in pussen. Ah thunked you was juss a lowdown wageslave like the rest of us pickaninnies." Dick wanted to shut up but he couldn't. "Whether you like it or not the molding of the public mind is one of the most important things that goes on in this country. If it wasn't for that American business would be in a pretty pickle. . . . Now we may like the way American business does things or we may not like it, but it's a historical fact like the Himalaya Mountains and no amount of kidding's going to change it. It's only through publicrelations work that business is protected from wildeyed cranks and dema-gogues who are always ready to throw a monkeywrench into the industrial machine."
"Hear, hear," cried Pat.
"Wel , you'l be the first to hol er when they cut the income from your old man's firstmortgage bonds," said Dick snappishly.
"Senator," intoned
Reggie, strengthened by another old-fashioned, "al ow me to congrat'late you. . . ma soul
'n body, senator, 'low me to congrat'late you. . . upon your val able services to this great commonwealth that stretches from the great Atlantical ocean to the great and glorious Pacifical."
"Shut up, Reggie," said Jo. "Let him eat his steak in peace."
"Wel , you certainly made the eagle scream, Dick," said Pat, "but seriously, I guess you're right."
"We've got to be realists," said Dick.
"I believe," said Pat Doolittle, throwing back her head and laughing, "that he's come across with that raise." Dick couldn't help grinning and nodding. He felt bet--513-ter since he'd eaten. He ordered another round of drinks and began to talk about going up to Harlem to dance at Smal 's Paradise. He said he couldn't go to bed, he was too tired, he had to have some relaxation. Pat Doolittle said she loved it in Harlem but that she hadn't brought any money. "My party," said Dick. "I've got plenty of cash on me." They went up with a flask of whiskey in each of the girls' handbags and in Dick's and Reggie's back pockets. Reggie and Pat sang The Fireship in the taxi. Dick drank a good deal in the taxi to catch up with the others. Going down the steps to Smal 's was like going underwater into a warm thicklygrown pool. The air was dense with musky smel s of mulatto powder and perfume and lipstick and dresses and throbbed like flesh with the smoothlybalanced chugging of the band. Dick and Pat danced right away, holding each other very close. Their dancing seemed smooth as cream. Dick found her lips under his and kissed them. She kissed back. When the music stopped they were reeling a little. They walked back to their table with drunken dignity. When the band started again Dick danced with Jo. He kissed her too. She pushed him off a little.
"Dick, you oughtn't to." "Reggie won't mind. It's al in the family. . . ." They were dancing next to Reggie and Pat hemmed in by a swaying blur of couples. Dick dropped Jo's hand and put his hand on Reggie's shoulder. " Reggie, you don't mind if I kiss your future