“I was hopin’ you boys would come. That was great stuff,” he said, looking significantly at the end of his own nose. “You earned this jelly.” He made out two forms for the mate of the Verda and gave them to Martin and Rio. “Get there by three P.M. drunk or sober.” One of his eyes twitched nervously.
“O.K.,” said Rio.
He and Martin put their slips in their pockets and left the Hall.
“Is your gear ready, Martin?”
“It won’t take long. But I have a note to write, so we’ll make it fast.”
Once in his room, Martin packed his clothes with Rio’s help, saw that his sneakers were rotten and threw them away. Then he sat down at his desk, folded his drawings and put them in an envelope addressed MRS. IDARA. For a few moments he sat there, staring at the name, a shameless grief upon his face. After a little, he took a piece of paper and a pen and wrote:
“Dearest....”
Rio walked up and down, smoking one cigarette after another, stopping at intervals to glance somewhat anxiously at Martin.
When Martin finally got up, his eyes were red; but he looked straight at Rio.
“That’s that, my bonny friend. We’re going to the Verda.”