Some of the crew had stopped in the Chicago Bar for a stirrup cup before galloping off to the hunt. That night some of them never got beyond the Chicago Bar, and old Pat the oiler —dressed up with his uncreased felt hat sitting his head like a hornless, Gaelic helmet—never went further inland than that Bar for the ten days our ship was docked in that port.
Their carousing broke in waves of sound on the wet night. Just as we passed the yellow glow of its stained window, the flimsy walls of that shack quivered with a baroque swell of laughter. Old Pat must have told that joke. We could hear his rattling laugh above all others.
Perry was scornful. He hurried us quickly past the lighted window, for he didn't want any of those noisy gluttons in our select party.
"Dose guys are a bunch of dopes. Dey ain't got any excrim— descrimin—appreciation of tings. Now lissen," and he threw his body across our path while his legs walked straight ahead and he gestured with his arms, hands and face. "Lissen, we ain't gonna be dopes—see what I mean? Dere's no sense in guzzlin' a lot of vino and then goin' to a house and lettin' one of d'old bags rope ya in. Dat's a lousy way to spend d'night."
Joe walked along with his head back, shoulders square, hands in his pockets. He was all dressed up and felt it. Soberly, he nodded his head.
"You betcha."
"See—what we'll do. I know lots of d'houses here in dis port."
"Are there lots?" I asked.
"Lots? Look—y'see dat?" And Perry pointed to an inlet we were passing. "Y'know what dat is?"
"No, what? Wait—she looks like one ol' battleship out dere. No?" Joe knew ships and could spot them as we passed out at sea usually by just a glimpse of their lines, even on a dark night.
"You're right—dat's d'Battleship, dat's d'Argentine Navy. And they got a place like Annapolis here—a Navy yard. Navy Academy or something. And dere—see dat?" Perry continued swinging in the other direction. "Dere's d'big steel works and back dere was d'big slaughterhouses, and den dere's all dese ships in port. Now lissen, dese houses gotta service dem all. Why, you know, dere's some of dese houses which has as much as seventy—yeah, I'll betcha dere's even a hundred girls in some of dem."
"Naw-w?" Joe was incredulous but he grinned hopefully.
"Sure—I'm tellin' ya. Ain't it wonderful?"
"0-o-h boy, come on. Shake d'lead out and c'mon." And the big fellow lengthened his stride and I trotted along.
"No—No. Lissen." Perry grabbed the flying Joe and me and clung to our lapels. "There's no sense rushin', see. Foist we'll have a good dinner— Wait, before that even, we'll stop and have a fine drink—Cafe Expresso wit cognac—y'know what dat is, kid—?"
Joe knew. He nodded his head, I didn't and I shook mine.
"An' no cheap cognac, either. What's d'best cognac dere is?"
I scurried around in my memory to the time I'd hopped bells and tried to recall the fancy drinks I'd carried up to stuffy hotel rooms that had smelled of talc and cigarette smoke.
"Five star Hennessey," I dug up. "That's the best."
Perry blinked at that and he quickly piped me down.
"Naw—dat used to be. M-ar-tel cognac, dat's d'best. And dat's what we'll get. Cafe Expresso and Martel cognac. Boy, wait'll ya taste dat."
We had reached the town and Perry steered us into the first corner cafe we saw. He ordered for us after we had sat down around a little marble-topped table. We leaned back, grinned at each other, and smoked our cigarettes.
"Ya sez ya don't know what's Cafe Expresso, kid. Look over dere." Perry nodded his head over toward the bar. "Dat's it. Dey makes it right before your eyes."
And they did. There was a gadgety nickel-plated machine, like those immense coffee urns one sees on the other side of cafeteria counters, but this was bigger, brighter and with more doodads on it. The waiter who had taken our order went behind the bar and swung out a metal saucer-shaped attachment hinged to the machine. He measured some ground coffee into it and then snapped it back into place. Three metal tits hung from the rounded bottom of the container—he placed a heavy small cup under each tit. Then with a tap here and a look there he pulled a lever and steam spouted in various directions from the big shining machine. Evidently the metal saucer of dry coffee was getting some of it, for the tits began to sputter and dribble large black drops of coffee into the cups.
"That's it—see? Dat's coffee Expresso—see what I mean? D'steam is forced tru de coffee—it expresses tru it, see— d'steam does. Ya gets d'essence of d'coffee—d'essence—ya see what I mean? D'essence. . . ."
The waiter returned and switched back the lever. He took the heavy demitasse off the machine and the steam stopped shooting out and eventually died off into thin wisps here and there. He loaded them on his tray and then set down a slim glass of amber-colored brandy and a small cup in front of each of us.
