the wind and thought, not with Americans drinking. I know they are bored. In this town, too. They are bored in this town. I know the place is cold and their wages are inadequate and what fuel costs. I admire their wives, for the valiant efforts they make to transport Keokuk to Venice, and their children already speak Italian like little Venetians. But no snapshots today, Jack. Today we are giving the snapshots, the barroom confidences, the unwanted comradely drinks and the tedious woes of the Consular services a miss.
“No second, third or fourth vice-consuls today, Arnaldo.”
“There are some very pleasant people from the Consulate.”
“Yeah,” the Colonel said. “They had a hell of a nice consul here in 1918. Everybody liked him. I’ll try to remember his name.”
“You go back a long way back, my Colonel.”
“I go back so damn far back that it isn’t funny.”
“Do you remember everything from the old days?”
“Everything,” the Colonel said. “Carroll was the man’s name.”
“I have heard of him.”
“You weren’t born then.”
“Do you think it is necessary to have been born at the time to know about things that have happened in this town, my Colonel?”
“You’re perfectly correct. Tell me, does everybody always know about everything that happens in this town?”
