Page:Storm Over Paris.pdf/131

"Hurrah!" Pierre threw his beret high in the air. "Hurrah!" the others echoed his glee. There was kissing and embracing. "Long live the People's Front. Long live the victory of the workers!"

The news came on a Saturday morning while the workers were milling around in the yard near the shop. There was dancing in the streets. A forty-hour week! No more work on Saturday! More time for fun!

"Let's go to the Syndicate office," Pierre proposed.

"First a drink," Lucien suggested. The others enthusiastically seized on the proposal.

At the nearby cafe they all sprawled about luxuriously, each buying a round of drinks. Lucien was the first.

"Six Pernods," he ordered proudly.

Immediately six thin glasses filled with the greenish liquid slid towards them over the bar. The girls squeaked gleefully.

"He wants to get us drunk!"

"Here's to the workless Saturday!" Lucien proposed.

"To the welfare of the working class!" Pierre toasted.

With glasses raised they all got to their feet. So much to say, but somehow the words could not come! Hands thrust deep in his pockets, his beret shoved to a side, Pierre moved a little apart from the others. His eyes glowed.

"Comrades!" he called, "victory is ours-and we will hold fast to it. Step by step-higher and higher!"

"Right up to the attic," Lucien cried out mockingly.

The others howled in glee, an odor of anise filling the cafe.

"It's too bad," Jeanne remarked, "that we didn't bring the foreman with us. Did you see how he acted? Like a plucked chicken, not knowing which way to move."

"Like a capon, you mean. He hasn't got what it takes," Mary corrected her. "He's neither a boss nor a worker."