Martin continued along the Bowery until he saw a saloon. He crossed the street and went inside wondering if he had time for a drink. Looking at his watch he saw that he was far too early for his appointment with Drew.
“Step up, Mac,” called out a fat, red-faced gentleman at the bar. “Name it, and I’ll buy it.”
“Thanks,” said Martin. “I’ll have a Bass Ale.”
“To my little lady I left in the west!” said the florid man, a few tears trickling down the side of his pudgy nose. “Ain’t that right, Allie?” he continued, turning to a slab-headed man next to him.
“Yeah,” replied Allie, looking Martin over.
The three men lifted their glasses. Allie belched and took a package of baking soda from his pocket. He dumped a teaspoonful into the remainder of his beer and stirred it. Swallowing this concoction with some effort, he turned to Martin.
“It takes a goddam acid out,” he said earnestly. “It don’t give a gas like a plain goddam beer—” he stopped to belch again.
“I must be going now,” he said, “but before I do, kindly have a drink on me.”
Allie insisted on a third which Martin thanked him for, but put down untouched after seeing the fellow cleverly add an astonishing portion of “mickey” to it.
The men were sullen as he said goodnight, and a little way down the street Martin knew he was being followed by them. He ducked around a corner and into a doorway for a moment, but they were even closer behind him as he started on. Ahead of him four men were huddled on a stoop out of the rain, the light from a yellow lamp streaking their greasy features. Martin thought momentarily of Deane’s weird description, then looking back and seeing Allie and his friend closing in upon him, he went directly to the little group on the doorstep and addressed them earnestly.
“It’s cold,” he said. “A smoke for the soul’s sake,” he continued, handing some cigarettes around, one at a time, to the greedy, shaking fingers. One cigarette was now left in the case, and one man was left out. “I just came down from Heaven, sir,” Martin said to the man quite solemnly. “They told me that worldly goods were without blessing unless freely given.” He handed the cigarette to the man, who backed slightly away, but who accepted it nevertheless. All the men lit up and formed a thinly protective group against Martin, who heard one of them whisper, “The kid’s cracked. Hope he ain’t got no ‘shiv.’ Religion guys go fast wit’ a knife.”