“Waz he want?” he growled dancing on.
“I guess it’s the shirt, Dutch.”
“The hell it is.”
“I’m tired. I’d rather talk than dance anyway ...” They went back to their booth and their sliced pineapple for dessert.
Afterwards they walked east along Fourteenth. “Dutch cant we go to your room?”
“I ain’t got no room. The old stiff wont let me stay and she’s got all my stuff. Honest if I dont get a job this week I’m goin to a recruiting sergeant an re-enlist.”
“Oh dont do that; we wouldn’t ever get married then Dutch.... Gee though why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to worry you Francie.... Six months out of work ... Jez it’s enough to drive a guy cookoo.”
“But Dutch where can we go?”
“We might go out that wharf.... I know a wharf.”