United States -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction; Women college students -- Fiction
“I suggested that if he wanted me to trot out any joy of living stuff,
we had better leave that place and come on up to my apartment. I had
some there—a small but good assortment. I had outgrown my taste for
beer, but still wolfed down the Demon Rum—and I couldn’t sit in
Hanley’s much longer without being recognized. He paid the check and we
were off without even waiting for the change. Now I knew he’d been
drinking. It’s a long way from Hanley’s to West 111th, in case you don’t
know—in a taxi—although only about twenty minutes in the Subway. We
got in a meter-wagon and started off through the white lights. My heart
was travelling quicker than the meter.
“‘It’s sort of unusual for an officer to be alone in New York, isn’t
it?’ I said, and he pulled a laugh that would have been funny if it
hadn’t been so pitiful. ‘Alone? I’m the loneliest man in New York.’ Then
he set himself off and told me what was rotting in the State of Denmark.
His girl had knocked him one by quietly side-stepping around the corner
and getting sewed up to a French artillery officer. This had just burst
in upon him when he had heaved in from Upton that P.M.—after leaving
her last week with all the encouragement in the world. It had made him
simply silly—he’d been sampling everything he could get hold of, and
was quite poppo by now, as I could see.
“That girl was probably a good girl, but she hadn’t played fair, to do a
thing like that. And when you don’t play fair, you let yourself in for a
lot of responsibility. Here was her responsibility—shifted to me—and I
was her opposite. I hadn’t been good, according to her standards, but I
had always played fair.
“I gathered, as we bumped along through Columbus Circle, that she had
been about the only thing that had been keeping him treading water, just
now. He’d been made a Captain at Plattsburg, and he hadn’t felt he was
up to such a position; and at Upton he was feeling it more and more. He
told me about two young officers who’d shot themselves because they were
going crazy with their cares and responsibilities. It was a tough thing
for some of those young kids, to feel that they had whole companies of
men under them to answer for, when up to now they had never answered for
anything but the dog. He said if he hadn’t been older than those kids he
now would be tempted to do the same thing; that he never felt nearer to
it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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