Page 152 - tender-is-the-night

never would have read it.’
‘It must be a very good story.’
‘It’s a terr-r-rible story.’
Paul arose chuckling and paused, leaning on the back of
a chair:
‘If you really want to get off, Mr. North, there are friends
of yours going to-morrow on the France—Mister what is
this name—and Slim Pearson. Mister—I’ll think of it—tall
with a new beard.’
‘Yardly,’ Abe supplied.
‘Mr. Yardly. They’re both going on the France.’
He was on his way to his duties but Abe tried to detain
him: ‘If I didn’t have to go by way of Cherbourg. The bag-
gage went that way.’
‘Get your baggage in New York,’ said Paul, receding.
The logic of the suggestion fitted gradually into Abe’s
pitch—he grew rather enthusiastic about being cared for, or
rather of prolonging his state of irresponsibility.
Other clients had meanwhile drifted in to the bar: first
came a huge Dane whom Abe had somewhere encountered.
The Dane took a seat across the room, and Abe guessed he
would be there all the day, drinking, lunching, talking or
reading newspapers. He felt a desire to out-stay him. At
eleven the college boys began to step in, stepping gingerly
lest they tear one another bag from bag. It was about then
he had the chasseur telephone to the Divers; by the time
he was in touch with them he was in touch also with oth-
er friends—and his hunch was to put them all on different
phones at once—the result was somewhat general. From

152 Tender is the Night