“It’s what drove me away from Palm Beach,” he says.
“How long since you been there?” I ast him.
“How long you been goin’ there?” he says.
“Me?” says I. “Five years.”
“We just missed each other,” says he. “I quit six years ago this winter.”
“Then it couldn’t of been there I seen you,” says I. “But I know I seen you somewheres before.”
“It might of been most anywheres,” he says. “They’s few places I haven’t been at.”
“Maybe it was acrost the pond,” says I.
“Very likely,” he says. “But not since the war started. I been steerin’ clear of Europe for two years.”
“So have I, for longer’n that,” I says.
“It’s certainly an awful thing, this war,” says he.
“I believe you’re right,” says I; “but I haven’t heard nobody express it just that way before.”
“I only hope,” he says, “that we succeed in keepin’ out of it.”
“If we got in, would you go?” I ast him.
“Yes, sir,” he says.
“You wouldn’t beat me,” says I. “I bet I’d reach Brazil as quick as you.”
“Oh, I don’t think they’d be any action in South America,” he says. “We’d fight defensive at first and most of it would be along the Atlantic