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"You do, do you?" "It's part of the system. You've got to turn men into beasts before ye can get 'em to act that way. Ever read Tolstoi?" "No. Say, you want to be careful how you go talkin' around the way you do." Fuselli lowered his voice confidentially. "I heard of a feller bein' shot at Camp Merritt for talkin' around." "I don't care.... I'm a desperate man," said Eisenstein.
"When this great newspaper condescends to shed the light of acceptance, to say nothing of an obese and taxable paycheck, upon the gross corpus of an illiterate moviecameraman, a false Daguerre, a spurious Steichen, a dubious Eisenstein, it has a right to expect a return for the goods showered upon such a deceitful sluggard."
"Hullo! are you keepin' house here?" asked Eisenstein. "Sure," said Fuselli conceitedly. "Have you got any chawclit?" asked the chalky-faced boy in a thin bloodless voice. Fuselli looked round the shelves and threw a cake of chocolate down on the counter. "Anything else?" "Nothing, thank you, corporal. How much is it?"
Fuselli strode familiarly into the grocery shop, whistling, and threw open the door to the inner room. His whistling stopped in the middle of a bar. "Hello," he said in an annoyed voice. "Hello, corporal," said Eisenstein.
Will they let themselves be driven to the slaughter always?" "O I don't know." Eisenstein got to his feet. "We'd better be getting to barracks. Coming, Fuselli?" he said. "Guess so," said Fuselli indifferently, without getting up. Eisenstein and the Frenchman went out into the shop. "Bon swar," said Fuselli, softly, leaning across the table. "Hey, girlie?"
He put his arms round her and kissed her long on the mouth. "Demain," he said. She nodded her head. Fuselli walked fast up the dark street towards the camp. The blood pounded happily through his veins. He caught up with Eisenstein. "Say, Eisenstein," he said in a comradely voice, "I don't think you ought to go talking round like that. You'll get yourself in too deep one of these days."
"Fools," muttered Eisenstein, turning over and burying his face in his hands. "Gee, I wonder what it is makes it smell so funny down here," said Fuselli. Fuselli lay flat on deck resting his head on his crossed arms.
In the inner room was a large oak table with chairs round it. At the end Eisenstein and a French soldier were talking excitedly, so absorbed in what they were saying that they did not notice the other two. Yvonne took the Frenchman by the hair and pulled his head back and told him, still laughing, what Fuselli had said. He laughed.
They sat a long while looking at each other and giggling, while Eisenstein and the Frenchman talked. Suddenly Fuselli caught a phrase that startled him. "What would you Americans do if revolution broke out in France?" "We'd do what we were ordered to," said Eisenstein bitterly. "We're a bunch of slaves."
"Yvonne, come over here," he said, beckoning with his head. She looked from him to the Frenchman provocatively. Then she came over and stood behind him. "Que voulez-vous?" Fuselli glanced at Eisenstein. He and Stockton were deep in excited conversation with the Frenchman again. Fuselli heard that uncomfortable word that always made him angry, he did not know why, "Revolution."
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