“It’s cold,” he said. “A smoke for the soul’s sake,” he continued, handing some cigarettes around, one at a time, to the greedy, shaking fingers. One cigarette was now left in the case, and one man was left out. “I just came down from Heaven, sir,” Martin said to the man quite solemnly. “They told me that worldly goods were without blessing unless freely given.” He handed the cigarette to the man, who backed slightly away, but who accepted it nevertheless. All the men lit up and formed a thinly protective group against Martin, who heard one of them whisper, “The kid’s cracked. Hope he ain’t got no ‘shiv.’ Religion guys go fast wit’ a knife.”
Another, a giant in a white shirt and dark coat said, “Don’t squawk. Lookit a kid’s face in a lamp. God!—a smoke is sweet! Lookit a kid.” They all studied Martin whose uplifted face and exalted eyes seemed far away from them. They talked on quietly among themselves as the rain streaked down Martin’s cheeks unnoticed.
By this time Allie and his companion had reached the little group.
“Hello, Pal,” said Allie, addressing Martin.
Martin did not answer, but turned to his new friends.
“These men are evil,” he said in a deep, resonant tone. “The very lips of the Devil are among us!” Martin lifted his voice into an hysterical pitch as he noticed with curiosity the strange effect of his words upon the men about him.
The giant with the coat carefully hung the dripping garment on a railing, and the dirty shirt and muscular reach of his arms showed in the yellow, muckish light.
“Amen!” he cried, and advanced slowly toward Allie.
“Amen, amen!” echoed through the group behind him. The little fat man ran crying into the heavy rain; but it was with singular detachment that Martin watched the giant he had converted, strike tirelessly the broken form of Allie until the body was dumped, face down, in the swirling length of gutter.