“Avez-vous du fromage, Madame?” It was almost inspiration to add the last word, he thought; and when it worked, he was as much startled as if his revolver had gone off in his belt.

“Du fromage?” the shop woman screamed.  Calling something to her daughter, who was at the desk, she caught Claude by the sleeve, pulled him out of the shop, and ran down the street with him.  She dragged him into a doorway darkened by a long curtain, greeted the proprietress, and then pushed the men after their officer, as if they were stubborn burros.

They stood blinking in the gloom, inhaling a sour, damp, buttery, smear-kase smell, until their eyes penetrated the shadows and they saw that there was nothing but cheese and butter in the place.  The shopkeeper was a fat woman, with black eyebrows that met above her nose; her sleeves were rolled up, her cotton dress was open over her white throat and bosom.  She began at once to tell them that there was a restriction on milk products; every one must have cards; she could not sell them so much.  But soon there was nothing left to dispute about.  The boys fell upon her stock like wolves.  The little white cheeses that lay on green leaves disappeared into big mouths.  Before she could save it, Hicks had split a big round cheese through the middle and was carving it up like a melon.  She told them they were dirty pigs and worse than the Boches, but she could not stop them.

“What’s the matter with Mother, Lieutenant?  What’s she fussing about?  Ain’t she here to sell goods?”

Claude tried to look wiser than he was.  “From what I can make out, there’s some sort of restriction; you aren’t allowed to buy all you want.  We ought to have thought about that; this is a war country.  I guess we’ve about cleaned her out.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” said Hicks wiping his clasp-knife.  “We’ll bring her some sugar tomorrow.  One of the fellows who helped us unload at the docks told me you can always quiet ’em if you give ’em sugar.”

They surrounded her and held out their money for her to take her pay.  “Come on, ma’m, don’t be bashful.  What’s the matter, ain’t this good money?”

She was distracted by the noise they made, by their bronzed faces with white teeth and pale eyes, crowding so close to her.  Ten large, well-shaped hands with straight fingers, the open palms full of crumpled notes....  Holding the men off under the pretence of looking for a pencil, she made rapid calculations.  The money that lay in their palms had no relation to these big, coaxing, boisterous fellows; it was a joke to them; they didn’t know what it meant in the world.  Behind them were shiploads of money, and behind the ships....