“Ugly ’sucker tried his best,” wrapping an arm about Bodine’s neck, “but got his warty ol’ ass handed to him tonight, damn ’f he didn’t.”

“Got your ‘snow,’ Major Marvy. Half a bottle shy, sorry, it’s the best I could do.”

“That’s all reet, sailor. I know so many nose habits between here ’n’ Wiesbaden you’d need three ton ’n’ that wouldn’t last the ’suckers a day.” He pays off Bodine, full price, overriding Bodine’s offer to prorate for what’s missing. “Call it a little lagniappe, goodbuddy, that’s Duane Marvy’s way o’ doin’ thangs. Damn that ol’ toad’s got my pecker to feelin’ pretty good now. Damn ’f I wouldn’t like to stick it inside one them little whores. Hey! Boats, where can I find me some pussy around here?”

The sailor shows him how to get downstairs to the whorehouse. They take you into a kind of private steam bath first, you can screw right there if you want, doesn’t cost any extra. The madame—hey! ha, ha! looks like some kind of a dyke with that stogie in her face! raises an eyebrow at Marvy when he tells her he wants a nigger, but thinks she can get hold of one.

“It isn’t the House of All Nations, but we do aim for variety,” running the tortoise end of her cigar-holder down a call-sheet, “Sandra is engaged for the moment. An exhibition. In the meantime, here is our delightful Manuela, to keep you company.”

Manuela is wearing only a high comb and black-lace mantilla, shadow-flowers falling to her hips, a professional smile for the fat American, who is already fumbling with uniform buttons.

“Hubba, hubba! Hey, she’s pretty sunburned herself. Ain’tcha? You got a leetle mulatto in there, a leetle Mayheecano, honey? You sabe español? You sabe fucky-fucky?”

“Si,” deciding tonight to be from the Levante, “I am Spanish. I from Valencia.”

“Va-len-cia-a-a,” sings Major Marvy, to the well-known tune of the same name, “Señorita, fucky-fucky, sucky-sucky sixty-ni-i-ine, la-lalala la-la la-la laaa…” dancing her in a brief two-step about the grave center of the waiting madame.