“You bet, big money in it, if yer in right.”
“So you used to be a taxi-driver, did you?” broke in the orderly. “That's a fine job.... When I was in the Providence Hospital half the fractures was caused by taxis. We had a little girl of six in the children's ward had her feet cut clean off at the ankles by a taxi. Pretty yellow hair she had, too. Gangrene.... Only lasted a day.... Well, I'm going off, I guess you guys wish you was going to be where I'm goin' to be tonight.... That's one thing you guys are lucky in, don't have to worry about propho.” The orderly wrinkled his face up and winked elaborately.
“Say, will you do something for me?” asked Andrews.
“Sure, if it ain't no trouble.”
“Will you buy me a book?”
“Ain't ye got enough with all the books at the 'Y'?”
“No.... This is a special book,” said Andrews smiling, “a French book.”
“A French book, is it? Well, I'll see what I can do. What's it called?”
“By Flaubert.... Look, if you've got a piece of paper and a pencil, I'll write it down.”
Andrews scrawled the title on the back of an order slip.