“His sister was the girl?”
“His sister was the girl,” repeated Rio. “The boy—well—I never knowed no kid like him—” He stopped and stared at his friend. “Unless——”
“Unless it was myself, Rio?” supplied Martin, a hard smile on his lips.
“Since you’ve said it—yeah.” Rio looked out at the harbor again. “I give the girl all the money I had, and went back to the ship with the boy. On the way, there was a tree in flower—” He turned sharply on Martin and took hold of his shoulder. “Say,” he said in a low, intense voice, “what the hell’s wrong with me, Martin? By God, I want the truth!”
Martin could see astonishment and resentment in Rio’s face; also a desperate sense of fear.
“There isn’t anything wrong with you, Rio,” he said calmly. “I’ve been afraid, too. And I’ve been sick with anger at the extremes. But if God Almighty granted you one precious moment, as I believe He did, and you didn’t spend it, you can get down on your damned knees with the rest of the dilettantes and say your A B C’s to Heaven the rest of your life without getting another.” Martin’s face was now so flushed with an anger he could not understand that it was as dark as Rio’s.
The frown had left Rio’s face. Infinitely puzzled, yet reassured, he stared at his friend.
“You can still talk, can’t you, Martin? You can still make me believe you. Yeah, even when you lie, you make me feel better.”
“Yes,” said Martin, “I can still talk. For I have a problem myself. Perhaps you can help me with it.”