“I don’t blame you. Why don’t you return to the family? Your money won’t last them forever and you could make out all right down there.”
They had reached Washington Square and were about to turn down Martin’s street when Rio stopped him.
“Let’s go in and sit down for awhile, buddy. There’s a few things I’d like to ask you.”
Martin walked beside him until they came to the large circular rim of the fountain. They sat down on the low concrete wall and Rio put out his cigarette, grinding it under his heel on the pavement. It seemed difficult for him to speak.
“Y’know,” he said, finally, “I been around more than most men. I been places and seen funny practices, and ugly ones, among the heathen. And I know Berlin better’n I do New York. The same goes for a few other cities. I thought I’d scraped most people and most happenin’s. Then I had the luck of bumpin’ into you.”
“Good, or bad?” asked Martin.
“Bad, I guess, or I’d have missed it.”
“Why bad?”
“Well, because I had a few ideas that I believed in. Somehow, you’ve managed to mess ’em up.”
“That’s all right,” said Martin, emphasizing his words with a quick movement of his hand. “If you were on a weak foundation you shouldn’t mind having your opinions reversed. If you had a strong one I couldn’t change it.”