Tom heaved a sigh of relief and got back to business.
“Now I suppose you want to get home.”
“I don’t know,” said Floyd, wearily.
Tom gave him a sharp look.
“What are you doing down here anyhow, seeing some capitalist off?”
“No, watching poor wretches come in. I’ve been through a lot, and I haven’t quite got my bearings.”
Tom asked no questions, but he told Maudy afterwards he was sure Garrison “had some trouble with that crazy wife of his.”
“You’d better come outside with me and get some fresh air—you don’t mind me taking a fare if it comes my way. I’ve got another car; there’s a guy in with me. I dope it out this way: he gets twenty-five per cent of the takings, I get the rest and pay for the damn gas. The car’s on instalment; when we pay it off we’ll go it equal. Fair enough, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.”
Tom had coarsened; the veneer of wealth was gone. Floyd liked him that way.