Joe had not wanted his company, had plainly sulked. But Le Moyne had persisted.
“I'll not talk,” he said; “but, since we're going the same way, we might as well walk together.”
But after a time Joe had talked, after all. It was not much at first—a feverish complaint about the heat, and that if there was trouble in Mexico he thought he'd go.
“Wait until fall, if you're thinking of it,” K. advised. “This is tepid compared with what you'll get down there.”
“I've got to get away from here.”
K. nodded understandingly. Since the scene at the White Springs Hotel, both knew that no explanation was necessary.
“It isn't so much that I mind her turning me down,” Joe said, after a silence. “A girl can't marry all the men who want her. But I don't like this hospital idea. I don't understand it. She didn't have to go. Sometimes”—he turned bloodshot eyes on Le Moyne—“I think she went because she was crazy about somebody there.”
“She went because she wanted to be useful.”
“She could be useful at home.”
For almost twenty minutes they tramped on without speech. They had made a circle, and the lights of the city were close again. K. stopped and put a kindly hand on Joe's shoulder.