Part 92 (2/2)
”Why, the people, Chris, the ordinary people like you and me, who are tired of being ordered round, who are tired of being trampled down by other people just like them, who've had the luck to get in right with the system.”
”D'you know what I'll do when the revolution comes?” broke in the c.h.i.n.k with sudden intensity, slapping himself on the chest with one hand.
”I'll go straight to one of those jewelry stores, rue Royale, and fill my pockets and come home with my hands full of diamonds.”
”What good'll that do you?”
”What good? I'll bury them back there in the court and wait. I'll need them in the end. D'you know what it'll mean, your revolution? Another system! When there's a system there are always men to be bought with diamonds. That's what the world's like.”
”But they won't be worth anything. It'll only be work that is worth anything.”
”We'll see,” said the c.h.i.n.k.
”D'you think it could happen, Andy, that there'd be a revolution, an'
there wouldn't be any more armies, an' we'd be able to go round like we are civilians? Ah doan think so. Fellers like us ain't got it in 'em to buck the system, Andy.”
”Many a system's gone down before; it will happen again.”
”They're fighting the Garde Republicaine now before the Gare de l'Est,”
said the c.h.i.n.k in an expressionless voice. ”What do you want down here?
You'd better stay in the back. You never know what the police may put over on us.”
”Give us two bottles of vin blank, c.h.i.n.k,” said Chrisfield.
”When'll you pay?”
”Right now. This guy's given me fifty francs.”
”Rich, are you?” said the c.h.i.n.k with hatred in his voice, turning to Andrews. ”Won't last long at that rate. Wait here.”
He strode into the bar, closing the door carefully after him. A sudden jangling of the bell was followed by a sound of loud voices and stamping feet. Andrews and Chrisfield tiptoed into the dark corridor, where they stood a long time, waiting, breathing the foul air that stung their nostrils with the stench of plaster-damp and rotting wine. At last the c.h.i.n.k came back with three bottles of wine.
”Well, you're right,” he said to Andrews. ”They are putting up barricades on the Avenue Magenta.”
On the stairs they met a girl sweeping. She had untidy hair that straggled out from under a blue handkerchief tied under her chin, and a pretty-colored fleshy face. Chrisfield caught her up to him and kissed her, as he pa.s.sed.
”We all calls her the dawg-faced girl,” he said to Andrews in explanation. ”She does our work. Ah like to had a fight with Slippery over her yisterday.... Didn't Ah, Slippery?”
When he followed Chrisfield into the room, Andrews saw a man sitting on the window ledge smoking. He was dressed as a second lieutenant, his puttees were brilliantly polished, and he smoked through a long, amber cigarette-holder. His pink nails were carefully manicured.
”This is Slippery, Andy,” said Chrisfield. ”This guy's an ole buddy o'
mine. We was bunkies together a h.e.l.l of a time, wasn't we, Andy?”
”You bet we were.”
”So you've taken your uniform off, have you? Mighty foolish,” said Slippery. ”Suppose they nab you?”
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