“If ye’re sure she’s in first class runnin’ order, Captain, I’d ’low about ten sous fer that on a good night!” “How much on the one in the middle of the second row?” “Aw, I wouldn’t give her standin’ room in a bed!” declared Ben. “Breastworks like the defenses of Verdun ... too big fer this boy. I don’t like beeg women!... Eh, Leony?” “I’ve never seen one yet you wouldn’t take!” I told him dryly. But he missed the crack and continued his raving. He spied a little red-headed pony and went into ecstasies, ending with, “Home was never like this!” I had to laugh with them. Home surely never was like this. Why, you could be arrested in America for just thinking about seeing a show like this. It all got my goat. Captain Winstead was too darned adaptable: he could make himself at home in the rottenest places, just as easily as he did in the best of society. We ended the evening at a cabaret where the cigarette girls wore nothing but loin cloths and the entertainers wore nothing at all and came right down beside our table to dance and make eyes at my companions and me.... I hadn’t any liking for that kind of stuff. If the women were beautiful it would be different. But they weren’t: most of them were homely as sin, with breasts that could whack on their knees or tummies that hung down like big bags of meal. They all looked the worse for wear—I guess it was too much to expect anything different from women who’d had to entertain a half dozen different visiting armies since this war started. I didn’t see how they could have any shape or kick or anything else left. The Captain said Ben was too drunk to think about women when they finally got around to dating up any, so I got them out and took them home. The Captain said I was a good man to have around, just for that purpose. He must have been working terribly hard, for he hadn’t relaxed enough yet. For the next night we planned going on an apartment party with some half-decent mademoiselles. I wasn’t very crazy about it, but I thought I’d better go to look after them. So far the Captain had just talked—maybe if I was around he’d manage to stay inside the line. I hoped so.... It would utterly disgust me to find him really going with any of those dirty women. Those mademoiselles were community property, and I should think a man would feel about as happy over using one of them as he would over using a toothbrush that had been used by a thousand other men. I could understand Ben: he was just an animal when it came to that. But I should think a man like the Captain would be interested only in exclusive, more or less virginal women. —4—