U.S.A_ - John Dos Passos [66]
about Del and that French girl in Bordeaux and the war and how the United Fruit was a bunch of thieves and then the thoughts would go round and round in his head like the little silver and blue and yel ow fish round the swaying
-157-weeds on the piles and he'd find held dropped off to sleep.
When a northbound fruitsteamer came into the harbor he got hold of one of the officers on the wharf and told him his sad story. They gave him passage up to New York. First thing he did was try to get hold of Janey; maybe if she thought he ought to, he'd give up this dog's life and take a steady job ashore. He cal ed up the J. Ward Moorehouse advertising office where she worked but the girl at the other end of the line told him she was the boss's secretary and was out west on business.
He went over and got a flop at Mrs. Olsen's in Red-hook. Everybody over there was talking about the draft and how they rounded you up for a slacker if they picked you up on the street without a registration card. And sure enough, just as Joe was stepping out of the subway at Wal Street one morning a cop came up to him and asked him for his card. Joe said he was a merchant seaman and had just got back from a trip and hadn't had time to regis-ter yet and that he was exempt, but the cop said he'd have to tel that to the judge. They were quite a bunch being marched down Broadway; smart guys in the crowd of
clerks and counterjumpers along the sidewalks yel ed
"Slackers" at them and the girls hissed and booed. In the Custom House they were herded into some of
the basement rooms. It was a hot August day. Joe elbowed his way through the sweating, grumbling crowd towards the window. Most of them were foreigners, there were longshoremen and waterfront loafers; a lot of the group were talking big but Joe remembered the navy and kept his mouth shut and listened. He was in there al day. The cops wouldn't let anybody telephone and there was only one toilet and they had to go to that under guard. Joe felt pretty weak on his pins, he hadn't gotten over the effect of that dengue yet. He was about ready to pass out
-158-when he saw a face he knew. Damned if it wasn't Glen Hardwick.
Glen had been picked up by a Britisher' and taken into Halifax. He'd signed as second on the Chemang, taking out mules to Bordeaux and a general cargo to Genoa, going to be armed with a threeinch gun and navy gunners, Joe ought to come along. "Jesus, do you think I could get aboard her?" Joe asked. "Sure, they're crazy for naviga-tion officers; they'd take you on even without a ticket." Bordeaux sounded pretty good, remember the girlfriends there? They doped out that when Glen got out he'd phone Mrs. Olsen to bring over Joe's license that was in a cigar-box at the head of his bed. When they final y were taken up to the desk to be questioned the guy let Glen go right away and said Joe could go as soon as they got his license over but that they must register at once even if they were exempt from the draft. "After al , you boys ought to re-member that there's a war on," said the inspector at the desk. "Wel , we sure ought to know," said Joe. Mrs. Olsen came over al in a flurry with Joe's papers and Joe hustled over to the office in East New York and they took him on as bosun. The skipper was Ben Tarbel who'd been first mate on the Higginbotham. Joe wanted to go down to Norfolk to see Del, but hel this was no time to stay ashore. What he did was to send her fifty bucks he borrowed from Glen. He didn't have time to worry about it anyway because they sailed the next day with sealed orders as to where to meet the convoy.
It wasn't so bad steaming in convoy. The navy officers on the destroyers and the Salem that was in command gave the orders, but the merchant captains kidded back and forth with wigwag signals. It was some sight