Avalon looked at the Saint. He looked away. She turned to Joe, who was still wandering around in wonder at the Saint's being present.
"I'll go wherever Joe wants to go."
She was rewarded by one of the most complete smiles she had ever seen.
Not that Joe reminded you of a vaudeville comic hamming romantic embarrassment; there was no calculation in his pleasure. It was just that: pure pleasure. His round face took on a glow that made it like a lamp in a mine tunnel.
The Saint took his eyes away from the back window, through which he had been scrutinising traffic in their wake, and let them rest on Joe. Where would Joe want to go? The Stork? 21? Leon and Eddie's? Or some waterfront joint — Bill's Place, or some such.
It seemed that Joe was going to require some time to decide. He was obviously accustomed to having decisions made for him: "Swab the deck," "Coil that rope," "Kick that guy in the kidneys." Here was responsibility, and he wasn't quite ready for it. If Avalon had simply told him to jump out of the cab window, there was no doubt in the world that he would have done it. He might have asked if she wanted him to do a jackknife or a belly-buster, but his final action would have been to drape himself on the asphalt. But now there was a choice concerned, he was so pleased at having his opinion asked that the fact of the choice slipped his mind.
He sat grinning for so long that Sam jabbed him with: "Well?"
Joe blinked. His grin faded slowly, like sky writing in a gentle breeze.
"Huh? Oh. Well, gosh, I don't care."
The Saint was becoming very fond of Joe. Here was a boy would give out like a defective slot machine if manipulated properly.