Shayne's haughty eyebrows lifted. His wide, thin mouth smiled. "Perhaps. I just came from Germany. Seemed like a nice, peaceful country three weeks ago."
"Oh." Hugo wondered if there were many pro-German Americans. His companion answered the thought.
"Not that I don't believe the Germans are wrong. But war is such—such a damn fool thing."
"Well, it can't be helped."
"No, it can't. We're all going to go out and get killed, though."
"We?"
"Sure. America will get in it. That's part of the game. America is more dangerous to Germany than France—or England, for that matter."
"That's a rather cold-blooded viewpoint."
Shayne nodded. "I've been raised on it. Garçon, l'addition, s'il vous plaît." He reached for his pocketbook simultaneously with Hugo. "I'm sorry you're stranded," he said, "and if a hundred francs will help, I'll be glad to let you have it. I can't do more."
Hugo's jaw dropped. He laughed a little. "Good lord, man, I said my ship was stuck. Not me. And these drinks are mine." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a huge roll of American bills and a packet of French notes.