Richard Gordon - DOCTOR AT SEA

'Where did you land them from?' Archer asked.

Hornbeam winked.

'The Mate's got to have a few perks,' he explained. 'Small present from the stevedores for giving them the pleasure of our custom. Also a token from the chandlers for the honour of providing us with deck stores. Strictly against Company regs., of course. Oh, I've got about'-he pulled some notes from his pocket-'about a thousand pesos.'

'That's forty quid,' Trail said reverently.

'Nothing but the best to-night!' Hornbeam continued. 'Drink up, and we'll hit the town.'

'This is the Boca,' Hornbeam explained, as we walked over the railway tracks towards the gawky German gantry bridge. 'One of the toughest spots in South America. A bos'n I sailed with once got beaten up about here. Left him only his shoes. He was a big chap, too.'

'I wish they wouldn't put ships in such insalubrious districts,' I said. 'It's like living in the slums.'

'They reckon the slums are good enough for sailors, I suppose.'

To reach the town we climbed into a small boat and were rowed across the slimy river towards the Boca's main street.

'Hard work finding a taxi in B.A. these days,' Trail said. 'We'd better climb in a colectivo.'

'A quick one in old Mother Whitehead's first,' Archer insisted. 'After all, it's known to every Liverpool fireman since steam came in.'

We had a couple of drinks described guardedly as Special Cocktails, and ate bits of chopped meat, nuts, mussels, cheese, and olives from the small plates the citizens of Buenos Aires expect to be handed with their drinks.

'On me,' Hornbeam said firmly, pulling out a fifty-peso note. 'Now let's go down town and have a steak.'

We went to the broad, bright Avenida Corrientes, the Broadway of B.A. In one of the grill rooms we sat down and ate steaks three inches thick.

'Nothing like nourishment,' Hornbeam observed. 'I'm going to have another of these. How about you, Doc?'

I shook my head, as my mouth was too full to speak.

'You'll want it in a few weeks' time when you're treating yourself to a nice spaghetti on toast. How about a bottle of Argentine wine? It's not bad. All on me, you blokes.'

We rose uneasily from the table when Hornbeam paid the bill. By now his already generous feelings towards the evening were accentuated by heavy feeding.

'I'm going to show you boys the town,' he said handsomely. 'Everything's my treat. Where shall we go to?'

'How about El Nidito?' Archer suggested. 'Or L'Atelier?'

'There's a joint I used to know round the corner,' Hornbeam said, scratching his forehead. 'Little redhead in there plays the guitar.'

He was delighted to find the bar was still there, though, reasonably enough, the redhead wasn't. It was a small, dim place with a band playing sambas in the corner and a tall girl caressing a microphone not much thinner than herself.

'Lovely grub!' Hornbeam said with relish. 'What's it to be? Scotch?'

There was no Scotch but they gave us the locally distilled whisky, which tasted like an old-fashioned carminative mixture. Trail got into earnest conversation with the girl behind the bar, who came from Lytham St. Anne's, and I sat wondering what the whisky was doing to my gastric lining.

'I've had this place,' Hornbeam said impatiently after a few minutes. 'Let's move on.'

'But we've only just arrived.'

'It's too quiet. Come on, blokes. It's my party, so I can take it anywhere.'

We went to a good many bars. They all offered the same-darkness, sambas, local whisky, and a girl behind the bar who came from some spot comparable to Lytham.

'It's half-past one,' I said to Archer later. 'Doesn't anyone go to sleep in B.A.?'

'Things are only beginning. They go on like this all night.'

'They must be a tougher race than we are. Apart from the hours, they seem to put up with their own whisky.'

Hornbeam was seized with a final inspiration.

'Let's go to the Saratoga, boys,' he announced.

'That's a posh do,' Trail told him dubiously. 'It's an expensive joint, particularly at this hour of the night.'

'Only the best is good enough for us,' Hornbeam insisted. 'Saratoga next stop. I want to see the dancing girls.'

We found a cab and drove down the street to the Saratoga. It was a class above the bars and night clubs we had been to-a small silk-lined place with two bands, a tiny dance floor, and a stage. Hornbeam strode in and demanded a table at the front.

'This is more like it!' he said contentedly. 'I'm fed up with slumming.'

He ordered some champagne.

I looked around me and saw it was certainly more fortunate in its clientele than the other places we had visited. The tone was marred only by our party, in which Hornbeam was now leaning back in his chair, clapping his hands, and demanding 'Bring on the fat women!'

'There aren't any here, are there?' I asked Archer.

'You wait, Doc,' he said. 'Three blokes can't sit down alone anywhere south of Panama without something turning up.'

He was right. A good-looking blonde in a white evening gown sat on the chair beside me.

'You buy me a t'rink, no?' she said.

The waiter had already appeared and brought her a thimbleful of red liquid in a liqueur glass. He also brought a green counter, which he handed to her. This she placed in her handbag.

'I'd better put you wise,' Archer said across the table. 'Out here you buy the coloured water and she gets the commission. If you can last out till four you go home with her buckshee.'

'I don't think I can last out the next ten minutes.'

The girl swallowed her glassful swiftly, like a bad medicine.

'You buy me another t'rink, no?'

The waiter gave her a second glass, and another counter.

'This is going to work out expensive,' I said.

'All on me, Doc,' Hornbeam said grandly. 'Tell her to send her friends over.'

Two more girls appeared and started drinking with the frightening rapidity of their companion. However, we all became very friendly, and Hornbeam ordered some more champagne.

When Trail fell asleep on the table I said, 'Hadn't we better get the bill, Chief? I could do with some sleep myself.'

'Mozo!' Hornbeam demanded. 'Bill, pronto!'

It was given to him immediately, neatly folded on a plate. He scowled at the figures, and began counting notes from his pocket.

'You buy me anot'er t'rink, no?' said the blonde.

'No. The bar's down.'

She got up and walked away.

'Say, Doc,' Hornbeam called. 'Can you lend me five hundred pesos?'

'What!'

'I seem to be a bit short.' Hornbeam spread his notes on the table. He had been carried away by his generosity into a ditch of insolvency.

We searched in our pockets, waking Trail up to join in.

Ninety-eight pesos,' Archer said. 'That's all we can muster.'

Hornbeam looked shiftily over his shoulder. The waiter, with that second sight which waiters have, was aware that some hitch had arisen and threw dark glances at us. Visions of Argentine prisons shimmered before my eyes: I was sure the Buenos Aires police would arrest with the alacrity of their comrades in Santos.

'This is serious,' I said. 'Hasn't anyone got any money at all?'

We searched our pockets again.

Not a centavo,' Trail said. 'I've got a couple of bob though.'

'Someone will have to go back to the ship and raise the wind,' Archer said. 'That's all there is for it. The others will sit here and pretend they're enjoying themselves. We'll toss for who goes.'

We tossed a twenty-centavo piece. I lost.

'Better take the ninety-eight pesos and see if you can get a cab,' Hornbeam said. 'Make it snappy. Ten pound notes will cover it at black-market rates.'

I stood outside in the hot dry air, already feeling the apprehending hand on my shoulder. I saw an empty cab on the other side of the street and leapt towards it.