Page 147 - tender-is-the-night

Abe cut in, solemn and ponderous, beating it all down
with an overtone of earth-bound determination.
‘Dick, I’ve launched a race riot in Montmartre. I’m going
over and get Freeman out of jail. If a Negro from Copenha-
gen that makes shoe polish—hello, can you hear me—well,
look, if anybody comes there—‘ Once again the receiver was
a chorus of innumerable melodies.
‘Why you back in Paris?’ Dick demanded.
‘I got as far as Evreux, and I decided to take a plane back
so I could compare it with St. Sulpice. I mean I don’t in-
tend to bring St. Sulpice back to Paris. I don’t even mean
Baroque! I meant St. Germain. For God’s sake, wait a min-
ute and I’ll put the chasseur on the wire.’
‘For God’s sake, don’t.’
‘Listen—did Mary get off all right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Dick, I want you to talk with a man I met here this morn-
ing, the son of a naval officer that’s been to every doctor in
Europe. Let me tell you about him—‘
Dick had rung off at this point—perhaps that was a piece
of ingratitude for he needed grist for the grinding activity
of his mind.
‘Abe used to be so nice,’ Nicole told Rosemary. ‘So nice.
Long ago—when Dick and I were first married. If you had
known him then. He’d come to stay with us for weeks and
weeks and we scarcely knew he was in the house. Some-
times he’d play—sometimes he’d be in the library with a
muted piano, making love to it by the hour—Dick, do you
remember that maid? She thought he was a ghost and some-

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