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More tell me, more still!! On the top of the Howth tram alone crying to the rain: Naked women! naked women! What about that, eh? What about what? What else were they invented for? Reading two pages apiece of seven books every night, eh? I was young. You bowed to yourself in the mirror, stepping forward to applause earnestly, striking face. Hurray for the Goddamned idiot! Hray!
"You're an arrogant bureaucrat! Your kind comes and goes because when you get too goddamned arrogant the people rise up in their wrath and knock you off." Marcia Holly, Brent's secretary, was studiously transcribing some notes and Brent turned his scowl on her because, damn it, she was laughing like hell at the whole thing.
Last time I saw you you was goin' up to the lines on a train with Chrisfield.... Chris we used to call him.... At Cosne, don't you remember?" "Of course I do." "Well, what's happened to Chris?" "He's a corporal now," said Andrews. "Gee he is.... I'll be goddamned.... They was goin' to make me a corporal once."
That made us feel sort o' good an' I says to Bill, 'Bill, we've got to get to headquarters an' tell 'em that we accidentally smashed up our car, before the M. P.'s get busy. An' he says, 'You're goddamned right, an' at that minute I sees an M. P. through a crack in the door comin' into the cafe. We lit out into the garden and made for the wall.
What do you have on SMT5, FHQ? Come in, FHQ." I was still speculating as to what had happened to SMT5 when the loudspeaker once more became intelligible. "... and the going's getting tougher all the time. I don't believe these goddamned wirecutters are worth a pissinasnowhole. Just fouled up, that's what they are, just fouled up. Got further if theyd been left off." His grumbling was blotted out.
The M. P. spat disgustedly. "You fellers ain't never goin' to the front, don't you worry." "Hell!" said Fuselli. "I'll be goddamned if I don't get there somehow," said Bill Grey, squaring his jaw. A fine rain was falling on the unprotected platform. On the other side the little men in blue were singing a song Fuselli could not understand, drinking out of their ungainly-looking canteens.
The soldiers sat in groups about the tables in the restaurant, ragged men, filthy with sweat, dirt and smoke, their hair matted, wild, disheveled. "I killed two colonels," one man clamored in a guttural harsh voice. He was a small fat fellow, with embroidered hat and chamois coat, wearing a light purple handkerchief about his neck. "They were so Goddamned fat they couldn't even run.
He drew his sword out and struck the prisoner several times. "Let's have a look at your rope, Pancracio," he said. There was a strange gleam in his eyes. Quail observed that the prisoner no longer moved arm or leg. Blondie burst into a loud guffaw: "The Goddamned fool. Just as I was learning him to do without food, too!"
I'll be goddamned if anybody ever found a button of their pants." He laughed his creaky little laugh. "They got in the way of a torpedo." The "wet" canteen was full of smoke and a cosy steam of beer. It was crowded with red-faced men, with shiny brass buttons on their khaki uniforms, among whom was a good sprinkling of lanky Americans. "Tommies," said Fuselli to himself.
If he was wearied or angered by failure he was prone to exclaim "These Goddamned cattle of artists! What can you expect of them? They don't know anything outside their little theory of how things ought to look. They don't know anything about life. Why, God damn it, they're like a lot of children. Why should anybody pay any attention to what they think? Who cares what they think?
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