"Beginning to think of the girl I left behind me, are you?" asked the greyfaced man creakily.
"Ha, ha! that's it." Fanshaw laughed loud and lifted his hand as if to slap his thigh. He found himself looking with constraint at his lifted hand and put it stiffly into his pocket.
* * * *
Le Capitaine Eustache de la Potinière had a red scar on his left cheek that stretched from the lower rim of his monocle to the tip of his distended nostril. As he sat beside Fanshaw in the joggling cab the medals clinked together on the breast of his tight-waisted khaki uniform.
"The people on the street are looking at us as we drive by," he was saying. "They are telling each other: There go two of the bravest of our allies ... The Italians like that sort of thing: medals and people riding by in cabs ... Captain Macdougan, never forget that there is a brotherhood among the Latin peoples." Thereupon he sat up stiffly in the cab, blonde moustaches bristling, and clicked his hand up to a salute. An Italian officer in a long blue cloak saluted ferociously from the curb. Fanshaw found himself also stiffening to salute ... Funny feeling, the victorious allies riding about in cabs, saluting one another to a clink of medals. America had done all that, won the war, and he had done his bit himself; after all, relief work ...
"Excuse me if I stop at this chemist's a moment," said the French captain. "There is something I must get before they close." And he poked the driver in the back with his cane, crying out: "Arretez ici, cré nom d'un chien!"
While le Capitaine Eustache de la Potinière was in the shop, Fanshaw lolled in the cab and stared down the grey Palermo street where the dust gave a shimmering outline to the patches of sun and shadow. Now and then he straightened up and answered the salute of some Italian soldier. His puttees were too tight and cut into his legs above the ankle. Never mind, this was the last day. Tomorrow, sailing for home a civilian, no more uniform, no more inspecting colonels to talk to. Strange and different it will be coming back from the war. The thought was elating. And Nan Taylor, what will have become of her? A year since he'd heard of her. Poor Nan must be getting quite an old maid by this time, and, as for me, if it hadn't been for the war, this curious life in Italy, relief work ...
Le Capitaine Eustache de la Potinière was coming out of the shop, red and spluttering.
"Did you get what you wanted?" asked Fanshaw.
"These dirty Sicilians don't seem to understand. We'll try another place. Alley oop! Continuez!... We'll dine in the grand manner, won't we?... Imagine, this is my first day of Europe after a year of Africa. If I had not chanced to meet you, Captain Macdougan, I should have bored myself to death."