“What did you do at home?”
“Carpenter.”
“But gosh, man, with a trade like that you can always make a living anywhere.”
“You're goddam right, I could, but a guy has to live underground, like a rabbit, at this game. If I could git to a country where I could walk around like a man, I wouldn't give a damn what happened. If the army ever moves out of here an' the goddam M.P.'s, I'll set up in business in one of these here little towns. I can parlee pretty well. I'd juss as soon marry a French girl an' git to be a regular frawg myself. After the raw deal they've given me in the army, I don't want to have nothin' more to do with their damn country. Democracy!”
He cleared his throat and spat angrily on the road before him. They walked on silently. Andrews was looking at the sky, picking out constellations he knew among the glittering masses of stars.
“Why don't you try Spain or Italy?” he said after a while.
“Don't know the lingo. No, I'm going to Scotland.”
“But how can you get there?”
“Crossing on the car ferries to England from Havre. I've talked to guys has done it.”
“But what'll you do when you do get there?”