Appointment in Samarra - John O'Hara [25]
Nuts, said Julian. He was taking off his coat and hat and putting them in his locker. Everyone seemed to think that the job of kidding Julian was being taken over by Bobby. Jesus Christ, said Bobby. I ve done a whole lot of things in my life, but by Jesus if I ever sunk so low that I had to throw ice in a man s face and give him a black eye. My God.
Julian sat down at the table. Cocktail. Straight liquor. Highball. What ll you have, Ju? said Whit Hofman. Cocktail, I guess.
Martinis in this shaker, said Hofman. Fine, said Ju. Trying to ignore me, said Bobby. Trying to give me the old high hat. The old absent treatment. Well, all right. Go ahead. Ignore me. Give me the old high hat. I don t care. But the least you can do, English, the least you can do is go in there and pay for an extra subscription to the dance.
Huh? said Julian. You heard me. You’re responsible for there being one less man here tonight and the club needs the money, so don t forget, you sock out an extra five bucks when you pay your subscription.
Who is this man? said Julian to Whit. Whit smiled. Did he come here with a member?
That s all right, said Bobby. Don t worry about me.
Depression or no depression, I think the membership committee ought to draw the line somewhere, said Julian. I don t mind Jews or Negroes, or even a few people with leprosy. They have souls, the same as you or I. But when a man goes to his club he likes to think he s going to associate with human beings, and not some form of reptile life. Or is it insect? Turn around, Herrmann, till I decide just what you are. Have you got wings?
Don t worry about me. I ll get by.
That s just the trouble, said Julian. We ought to have state cops stationed at the club entrance, just to keep people like you away.
It s a good thing we didn’t have state cops here last night. As it was it s a wonder somebody didn’t send for them. Or the God damn marines or something.
There you go, talking about the war again, said Julian. You never got over that God damn war. That s your trouble. You don t hear Whit, or Froggy
That s all right, said Bobby. When there was a war, I was in it. I wore a uniform. I wasn’t one of these God damn slackers playing sojer boy at some college. Lafayette or Lehigh or wherever it was. S.A.T.C. Saturday Afternoon Tea Club. Yes, sir. When old Uncle Sam needed me, I heeded the call and made the world safe for democracy, and when the war was over I stopped fighting. I didn’t do like some people that put on a uniform back in 1917 and then did their fighting by throwing drinks around in the presence of respectable people at a country club, thirteen or fourteen years after the war was over. Nineteen-thirty. That s what some people are. Veterans of 1930. The Battle of the Lantenengo Country Club Smoking Room. Surprise attack.
The others were laughing, and Julian knew he was coming off a very bad second best. He finished his drink and rose to go. Not driving you away, are we? said Bobby. Julian looked at Whit, deliberately turning his back on Bobby. Something wrong with the can, Whit? Or don t you smell it?
Whit gave a neutral smile. Going in? he said. Let him go, Whit, said Bobby. You know how he is when be has a drink in his hand. Of course you’re safer when it s a cocktail. There aren t any lumps of ice in a cocktail to give you a black
Well, bye bye, said Julian. He walked out of the locker room, but as he left he heard Bobby say in a very loud voice, loud enough not to be missed by Julian: Say, Whit, I hear Harry Reilly s thinking of buying a new Lincoln. He doesn