The insolent red came back into Roberts’ cheeks.
“That was young, Martin, my lad. It was cruel.” Then, sensing the flux of blood upon his wrist more keenly, he felt curiously strong. Happiness, nostalgia and strength merged and fused until his mind turned slowly and hung staring down upon the stages of his life. Two pale stars drifted upward and dimmed. Roberts looked into his mother’s eyes.
CHAPTER V
Rio lay on a bed in a room on Fourteenth Street. He was in a bad humor. A back tooth ached and he sucked hot smoke from a cigarette against it. The Relief authorities had told him that Martin had signed up, but had disappeared without report. Had he left New York, or had he found a job? Had he changed his mind and caught a ship—Martin was too slippery for an idea to hold on to. Rio’s irritation increased.
“He never was solid,” he said to the girl sitting across the room.
“What do you care?” she answered. “You ain’t in love with him.”
Rio dropped the cigarette butt, pressed his thumb on the coal and rubbed it into the floor.
“Don’t get mad now, sweetheart,” the girl said. “I try to be funny. And that’s more than you done.”