with me and Bill. We’re going to festa the English.”
“I’ll festa them,” Bill said. “What the hell are they doing at this fiesta?”
“Come on,” Mike said. “Just us three. We’re going to festa the bloody English. I hope you’re not English? I’m Scotch. I hate the English. I’m going to festa them. Come on, Bill.”
Through the window we saw them, all three arm in arm, going toward the café. Rockets were going up in the square.
“I’m going to sit here,” Brett said.
“I’ll stay with you,” Cohn said.
“Oh, don’t!” Brett said. “For God’s sake, go off somewhere. Can’t you see Jake and I want to talk?”
“I didn’t,” Cohn said. “I thought I’d sit here because I felt a little tight.”
“What a hell of a reason for sitting with anyone. If you’re tight, go to bed. Go on to bed.”
“Was I rude enough to him?” Brett asked. Cohn was gone. “My God! I’m so sick of him!”
“He doesn’t add much to the gayety.”
“He depresses me so.”
“He’s behaved very badly.”
“Damned badly. He had a chance to behave so well.”
“He’s probably waiting just outside the door now.”