“You’re there, boss. I’d say you’re there.”
Marshall, the barber, violated all the traditions of his craft by being a silent man. He said nothing whatever while he trimmed Wint’s crisp hair; and Wint was glad of that. He would not hide. But he did not want to talk overmuch. When he came out of the barber shop, he saw Amos and Sam O’Brien and Peter Gergue on the other side of the street. They were walking purposefully, coming uptown from the direction of Amos’s home. They saw him, and Amos waved his hand in greeting; then Peter spoke to Amos, and left the others, and came across to Wint, scratching the back of his head. Wint said:
“Hello, Peter.”
Gergue grinned. “Well, Wint, you’ve started something.”
Wint nodded. “I suppose so.”
“You’ve made ’em talk, Wint. That never hurt a bit.”
“I think you told me that once before,” Wint agreed, laughing.
“Well, and it’s so,” Gergue insisted. He looked all around, took Wint’s arm. “Let’s walk along,” he suggested.
Amos and Sam had disappeared. Wint said: “I’ve been looking for Sam. I want to see him.”
“What about?”