"Couldn't you go there and get me cigars? They will be very cheap. Have you money with you?"
"I'll try," said Fanny, "I've money. We can settle afterwards," inwardly resolving to get as many cigarettes as she could to take back for the men in the garage. She crossed the street, but looked back to find the thin man creeping after her. She waited for him, irritated.
"Go back. If the American salesman sees you he'll know it's for the
French, and he won't sell."
"Tiens?"
"He knew that quite well," she thought impatiently to herself, "or he wouldn't have asked me to buy for him."
The thin man turned back to the cover of the shop like an eager little dog which has jumped too quickly for biscuit and been snubbed.
She went down the street and into the Y.M.C.A.
Instantly she was among three or four hundred men, who stood with their backs to her, in queues up the long wooden hall. Far ahead on the improvised counter was a guichet marked "Cigars." She placed herself at the tail of that queue.
"Move up, lady," said the man in front of her, moving her forward. "Say here's a lady. Move her up."
Men from the other queues looked round, and one or two whistled slyly beneath their breath, but her own queue adopted her protectingly, and moved her up to their head, against the counter.