“We sure in hell are to you.”
Duval flushed a dirty red. “Shut up, you thick squarehead.”
“Cajun!” Bervick snarled the word, made an oath of it.
Duval started toward him. Hodges stood up. “By the way,” said Hodges quickly, “where are the Major and the Chaplain?”
“What?” Duval stopped uncertainly; then he remembered himself. “I don’t know.”
“They’ve gone to bed,” said Bervick. He was sorry that the Chief had not tried to fight with him.
Hodges, pleased that he had stopped what could have been serious trouble, tried to think of something else to say. He asked, “Do you get into the Big Harbor often, Mr Duval?” This was the first thing that came into his head and it was the wrong thing to say.
“Yeah, we go there once, twice a week,” said Duval.
“A lot of nice people there,” said Bervick, looking at Duval.
“All you got to have is money,” said the Chief softly, “money and technique, that’s all you’ve got to have. Some people ain’t got either.”