Page 176 - tender-is-the-night

of the majority of the English and American patients. They
call me Doctor Gregory.’
‘Let me explain about that girl,’ Dick said. ‘I only saw her
one time, that’s a fact. When I came out to say good-by to
you just before I went over to France. It was the first time I
put on my uniform and I felt very bogus in it—went around
saluting private soldiers and all that.’
‘Why didn’t you wear it to-day?’
‘Hey! I’ve been discharged three weeks. Here’s the way I
happened to see that girl. When I left you I walked down to-
ward that building of yours on the lake to get my bicycle.’
‘—toward the ‘Cedars’?’
‘—a wonderful night, you know—moon over that moun-
tain—‘
‘The Krenzegg.’
‘—I caught up with a nurse and a young girl. I didn’t
think the girl was a patient; I asked the nurse about tram
times and we walked along. The girl was about the prettiest
thing I ever saw.’
‘She still is.’
‘She’d never seen an American uniform and we talked,
and I didn’t think anything about it.’ He broke off, recog-
nizing a familiar perspective, and then resumed: ‘—except,
Franz, I’m not as hardboiled as you are yet; when I see a
beautiful shell like that I can’t help feeling a regret about
what’s inside it. That was absolutely all—till the letters be-
gan to come.’
‘It was the best thing that could have happened to her,’
said Franz dramatically, ‘a transference of the most fortu-

176 Tender is the Night