Hobohemians

122“Steal! But I have no wish to say more.”

123“That’s one thing no Englishman would do, steal a friend’s girl when his back was turned for a moment.”

124“Now then drink and be friends,” said the Englishman. “Here she is anyway. Don’t let a little bitch like that hear two friends quarrelling over her.” With open simplicity he gazed affectionately equally at Jank, at Heinke. Jank rising begged him to come along to-morrow. Shaking hands he resolved to point out to Willy that one could be too tolerant of vice and badness. It was a pity to see him wasting his time on such people. Good nature was never rewarded.

125Willy to Lisette: “We couldn’t be polite to a fellow who says all manner of things about you. Did he give you your stockings?”

126“No,” said Lisette.

127“Then Heinke and I will buy one each for you someday,” offered Willy. “We like you. We’re not backbiters.”

128“No,” said Heinke, “the little Englishman is the straightest pal going.”

* * *

129Willy stood on the steps of the Trocadero looking across at the Eiffel Tower. How to get back to the Latin quarter on twenty-five centimes other than by walking was insoluble. The imprudent glass of beer was responsible. He had walked across Paris with empty belly to give a lesson, only to find the pupil had travelled away, it was not known where, and without leaving the merest clink of the hundred and sixty francs due. Willy set out to cross the river.

130Ali had also disappeared from Paris. In six months they had only met twice. Viktor who behaved invariably with exceptional deference had yesterday refused to speak with him. From a third party Willy found that a careless reference to Viktor’s habit of not washing had come home to the culprit.

131Ludmila was in love with some demagogue.

132In the Champs du Mars Willy was reminded by blackened gravel and a torn tree of the airman carbonised the day before while flying underneath the base of the Tower. The uselessness of towers, aeroplanes and teachers penetrated Willy.

133He made a turn about for Heinke’s Montmartre studio. Something to eat there.

134Sleeping in one corner was the poet from Antwerp who had exchanged agitation in the streets for upheaval in typography. His manifestos to the masses concerning the new poetry were printed upside down or sideways or both in obviously important passages. This, he maintained, drew the attention of the people to them.

135As Willy entered he awoke.

136“Piet is sleeping here to-night,” said Heinke. “To-morrow he is going to Mentone. He has sold everything except his pistol.”

137Pieter showed Willy a small revolver loaded with six bullets.

138“Is it all right? Can one kill with this?” asked Willy, putting it tragically against his head. Heinke looked at him—He is meditating suicide.

139Willy, hoping his earnestness would convince them something was wrong: “How much?”