V THE OUT-PORTERS 287 



After talking awhile, he asked us what luck we 

 had had with our fishing. I Interpreted. 



'Us an't done nort,' said Jim, with a gesture 

 so expressive that the big man of Calvados slapped 

 him on the back. 'Better catches, my friend! 

 De la bonne chance, inon gars/' Then he rejoined 

 his mates. 



After a morning on the quay, we were sitting 

 and chatting over our cafe-cognac. Two men 

 came in and greeted Mme. Bonne. One was tall, 

 blue-eyed, and fair; the other was a drooping, sad 

 man. His head, eyelids, moustache, and shoulders 

 drooped; his knees, as one might say, drooped. 



'You are Anglish?' inquired the fair man. 

 T speak it small. My father was Irish, but I have 

 never been there. You will drink with us?' 



'No, you with us.' 



'Very well, messieurs.' 



He produced a large card — Felix Diipont, Com- 

 missionaire — explaining that he was out-porter at 

 the Gare Maritime. 



We ordered beer, shook hands many times, 

 were prodigiously polite, bowed, shared cigarettes. 

 The Irish-Frenchman who had partially lost his 

 sight after fever In Martinique — 'Les colonies fran- 

 caises sont afreusesF — chatted to Jim. I had to 



