anyhow."

The lieutenant continued to smile.

"They'd better be doing that than slapping each other's faces and
exchanging cards at the Cercle Militaire," he murmured.

"They do that anyhow--afterwards," said the major, thrusting his papers
into the safe and lighting a cigarette. He shoved the door to with his
foot, twirled the knob, and stood up.

"What about some golf to-morrow afternoon?" he demanded. "Didn't you say
you had a friend coming ashore, Mathews?"

"Yes, from the _Proteus_. He'll be here about three, I think. Very
decent chap, too."

"Right. We'll go out in the new car. See you in the morning."

* * * * *

Mr. Dainopoulos found the trolley cars had stopped running and began to
walk home past the cafes of the front. On the other side of the road the
stern rails of a score of small coasting craft moved up and down gently
in the slight swell, and from here and there amid the confused dunnage
on deck a figure moved in sleep, or a silhouette of a man bending over a
lantern showed up for a moment. At intervals strains of American jazz
music came from the haunts of pleasure, and one could get a glimpse now
and then of a dreary dance-floor with half a dozen soldiers and sailors
slathering clumsily to and fro, embracing women that gave one the
horrors merely to look at, women like half-starved harpies or cylinders
of oily fat, the sweat running down through the calcareous deposits on
their faces and their squat chunky feet slewed sideways in bronze and
coppery shoes. Mr. Dainopoulos hurried past these abodes. Mr. Bates,
Archy Bates, a great business friend of his, was somewhere inside one of
them, fulfilling his destiny as a patron of Aphrodite and Dionysos; but
Mr. Dainopoulos had finished business for the day and he wanted to get
home. This was not to be without meeting Archy. The cat-like smile on
his unfortunate features, his hat on the back of his head, and his hands
in his pockets, Mr. Bates emerged from the _Odeon Bar_ just as a
carriage appeared in the distance. Mr. Bates did not conceal his
gratification. Would his friend come back and have a drink?

"Not to-night," said Mr. Dainopoulos quietly. "Me, I'm going home now.
Excuse me, Mister."

"Now, now!" protested Archy, clinging with the adhesiveness of the
pickled philanthropist. "Now, now! Lissen. Come-a-me to White Tower. Eh?
Laddie? You-n-me, eh? Li'l' fren' o' mine Whi' Tower. She gotta fren',
y' know. Here y'