tain very delicate restraint manifested in the wholly exquisite poise of his firm alert body, uttered at least a universe of grief.
The little Machine-Fixer was extremely indignant; not only that his friend was going to a den of thieves and ruffians, but that his friend was leaving in such company as that of ce crapule (meaning Rockyfeller) and les deux mangeurs de blanc (to wit, The Trick Raincoat and The Fighting Sheeney). "c'est malheureux," he repeated over and over, wagging his poor little head in rage and despair—"it's no place for a young man who has done no wrong, to be shut up with pimps and cutthroats, pour la durée de la guerre; le gouvernement français a bien fait!" and he brushed a tear out of his eye with a desperate rapid brittle gesture.... But what angered the Machine-Fixer most was that B. and I were about to be separated—"M'sieu' Jean" (touching me gently on the knee) "they have no hearts, la commission; they are not simply unjust, they are cruel, savez-vous? Men are not like these; they are not men, they are Name of God I don't know what, they are worse than the animals; and they pretend to Justice" (shivering from top to toe with an indescribable sneer) "Justice! My God, Justice!"
All of which, somehow or other, did not exactly cheer us.
And, the packing completed, we drank together for The Last Time. The Zulu and Jean Le Nègre and the Machine-Fixer and B. and I—and Pete The Shadow drifted over, whiter than I think I ever saw him, and said simply to me:
"I'll take care o' your friend, Johnny."
... and then at last it was lumières éteintes; and les deux américains lay in their beds in the cold rotten darkness, talking in low voices of the past, of Petroushka, of Paris, of that brilliant and extraordinary and impossible something: Life.
Morning. Whitish. Inevitable. Deathly cold.
There was a great deal of hurry and bustle in The Enormous Room. People were rushing hither and thither in the
