Page 67 - tender-is-the-night

thing to do with it. That damn Campion had no business
talking to you about it, but since he did—I told the chauf-
feur I’d get out the old musical saw if he opened his mouth
about it. This fight’s between two men—what Tommy needs
is a good war.’
‘I hope the Divers don’t find out,’ Rosemary said.
Abe peered at his watch.
‘I’ve got to go up and see McKisco—do you want to
come?—he feels sort of friendless—I bet he hasn’t slept.’
Rosemary had a vision of the desperate vigil that high-
strung, badly organized man had probably kept. After a
moment balanced between pity and repugnance she agreed,
and full of morning energy, bounced upstairs beside Abe.
McKisco was sitting on his bed with his alcoholic com-
bativeness vanished, in spite of the glass of champagne in
his hand. He seemed very puny and cross and white. Evi-
dently he had been writing and drinking all night. He stared
confusedly at Abe and Rosemary and asked:
‘Is it time?’
‘No, not for half an hour.’
The table was covered with papers which he assembled
with some difficulty into a long letter; the writing on the
last pages was very large and illegible. In the delicate light
of electric lamps fading, he scrawled his name at the bot-
tom, crammed it into an envelope and handed it to Abe.
‘For my wife.’
‘You better souse your head in cold water,’ Abe suggest-
ed.
‘You think I’d better?’ inquired McKisco doubtfully. ‘I

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