Hugo held out his hand. "Been busy. Glad to see you."
"Yes. I know how busy you've been. Up and down the lines we hear about you. Le Colorado. Damn funny war. You'd think you weren't human, or anywhere near human, to hear these birds. Wish you'd tell me how you get away with it. Hasn't one nicked you yet?"
"Not yet."
"God damn. Got me here"—he tapped his shoulder—"and here"—his thigh.
"That's tough. I guess the sort of work I do isn't calculated to be as risky as yours," Hugo said.
"Huh! That you can tell to Sweeny." The Frenchmen were still sitting politely, listening to a dialogue they could not understand. Hugo and Shayne eyed each other in silence. A long, penetrating silence. At length the latter said soberly: "Still as enthusiastic as you were that night in Marseilles?"
"Are you?"
"I didn't have much conception of what war would be then."
"Neither did I," Hugo responded. "And I'm not very enthusiastic any more."
"Oh, well—"