“You son-of-a-bitch.”
Martin couldn’t manage sympathy and started to cry. He didn’t make any noise and there were no tears. There was just a choking, helpless movement as he looked steadily at his friend.
Rio got up, lit a cigarette, then sat down once more on the bed and put the cigarette between Martin’s lips.
“I know all about it, buddy,” he said. “Once in Dairen I piled off a ship....” He looked away as dreamily as a big ape.
Martin laughed inside to see this fellow trying to be tender, but he listened to the story and it made him feel better. Finally he sat up.
“One night in the tropics, Rio, you told me I wasn’t a sailor. I knew you were right, so when we came into New York I got off. I went on Relief and met a man named Roberts at the Employment Station. He was intelligent and interesting, but he was like this—” Martin held out his arms.
Rio nodded.
“However, that didn’t make any difference,” Martin continued, lying down again. “And later, he got me a job.”
“Now ain’t that pretty,” said Rio.