“I’d rather just look on,” said Hamilton.
“And I’m going to dance,” said McCall. “Watch me!”
He lurched unsteadily past the fat man and his odalisques to a table where two dazzling blondes—a peroxide and a henna—sat waiting. The next minute he was fox-trotting with the peroxide blonde. The fat man and the two girls rose and went laughing and swaying out of the door. Another officer sat down with the henna blonde. A couple walked by, the woman’s black eyes beckoning to Hamilton, while her escort was looking the other way. The waiter yawned. Hamilton looked at his watch.
“Wow, it’s after three! We’ll have to catch the four o’clock to make reveille and then we won’t get any sleep.”
“Do you still have to stand reveille?” asked Levin.
“Oh, I’ve got a couple of shavetails who take turns at standing it with the company—and for all I know they may leave it to the top-sergeant. But our major’s a little fussy. Doesn’t know the war’s over, and he might kick.”
“Well, you get McCall, and in the meantime I’ll order a round of coffees. That’ll keep you awake until reveille, and then you can sleep.”
Hamilton found McCall making arrangements with the lady in henna, the other officer and the peroxide blonde to visit a little apartment uptown, but dragged him away. McCall refused to drink his coffee, but finally consented to leave and walked out between them to the taxi.
They drove to the Pennsylvania station and Levin saw them to the gates leading to their track.
“Let’s see, what was that address?” asked Hamilton.