“Les bourgeois a la lanterne, nom de dieu!” shouted the old man.
Andrews backed away cautiously towards the other side of the barge. All the little muscles of his thighs were trembling. A hard voice was saying in his head: “Drown yourself, drown yourself. Then they won't get you.”
The man was standing on the end of the plank. Andrews could see the contour of the uniform against the haze of light behind the poplar trees.
“God, if I only had a pistol,” he thought.
“Say, Buddy, where are you?” came an American voice.
The man advanced towards him across the deck.
Andrews stood with every muscle taut.
“Gee! You've taken off your uniform.... Say, I'm not an M.P. I'm A.W.O.L. too. Shake.” He held out his hand.
Andrews took the hand doubtfully, without moving from the edge of the barge.
“Say, Buddy, it's a damn fool thing to take off your uniform. Ain't you got any? If they pick you up like that it's life, kid.”