The air seemed to exhilarate Drew and he spoke again, enthusiastically.
“Will you answer a rather intimate question, Martin?”
“If I can.”
“Well, don’t be angry. But are all the stories that seamen tell—I mean the tall tales—just fancy, or are they mostly true?”
“That’s a trade secret,” said Martin thoughtfully, noticing that Drew’s classical manner had become more feminine since they had left Deane’s. Then, as though suddenly changing his mind, he added, “Yes, Drew. Most of them are true. You don’t have to exaggerate or romance about the sea. It gives you a bellyful whether you want it or not. Of course, all the adventures that sailors tell about probably didn’t happen to them. But they happened some place and to someone. I have a good collection of tales I’ve swapped, and I couldn’t tell you right now the true ones from the borrowed.”
Drew took Martin by the sleeve and they came to a halt. There was a curious, understanding expression in Drew’s eyes.
“I like you very much,” he said. “Please don’t misunderstand me, Martin, but I think a great deal of you. I’d like to know you better—to have your friendship.”
“You have my friendship, Drew.” Martin held out his hand and was surprised at the other’s firm, steady clasp.
Drew nodded his head in the direction of a subdued, blue glow on the opposite corner.
“There’s a cocktail lounge,” he said, “where once in a while I go when I’m tired of routine. I’ve never taken anyone there before, but I’d like you to come with me this evening. It’s very quiet—a place where one can rest or think as he desires. Will you?”