Chrisfield punched him.
“Wake up, Andy, are you asleep?”
“No,” said Andy smiling.
“Have a li'l mo' cognac.”
Chrisfield poured out two more glasses unsteadily. His eyes were on Antoinette again. The faded purple frock was hooked at the neck. The first three hooks were undone revealing a V-shape of golden brown skin and a bit of whitish underwear.
“Say, Andy,” he said, putting his arm round his friend's neck and talking into his ear, “talk up to her for me, will yer, Andy?... Ah won't let that goddam frog get her, no, I won't, by Gawd. Talk up to her for me, Andy.”
Andrews laughed.
“I'll try,” he said. “But there's always the Queen of Sheba, Chris.”
“Antoinette, j'ai un ami,” started Andrews, making a gesture with a long dirty hand towards Chris.
Antoinette showed her bad teeth in a smile.