“Santa de Marina?” asked Martin, looking interested.
Martin turned to the others and spoke proudly.
“Rio took his own ship into that harbor once.”
“So Rio was a master!” observed Roberts. Then, staring at the floor, he said with a cruel abstractness, “Yes, the sea is relentless. Many derelicts seek my aid on land when they find deep water too deep.”
“That’s true,” declared Martin instantly. “And many landlubbers are drowned because _they_ can’t step a mudpuddle. But they are not even derelicts. They’re just old bags. Of course,” he said, turning round, “you’re a derelict, Rio. But Mr. Roberts wasn’t thinking of you. I’m sure of that.”
Rio was watching Roberts with such dreadful intensity that when Martin finished, the adviser’s head snapped back like that of a toy.
Carol shifted about in his chair and stretched his legs. He felt the confused streams in the room, and it made him restless.
“That’s right,” said Rio, still watching Roberts intently. “He didn’t mean me. Once he made a mistake and I saved him from a derelict. Maybe the fellow let him go just so he could try it again some time. That thing you said about the mudpuddle is right, too, Martin. I’d think Mr. Roberts would be afraid. But he ain’t, Martin.”
Roberts did not hear all of this. He remembered those bitter eyes and hands too clearly.
“I wish I could talk like _you_ talk,” he said, addressing Martin. “I think you have the most—well, the most _exciting_ things to say.” His face was pink and moist.
“He’s an exciting man, Carol. That’s why he says exciting things,” he declared, emphasizing his words with a sly nod of approval.
Roberts looked distastefully about him. “My God! This!—all over again!” he thought.
But Carol continued, beaming, “I knew a boy in Chicago that was almost the same way as you, Martin. Every one of us boys said it must have been a trick. He could just turn everything into the best time. And my!—he was handsome! I think he was a bouncer at some cafe. And strong—Oooooh!” Carol adjusted his yellow tie and his eyelids fluttered.
Martin felt increasing annoyance at Rio’s persistent grin.
Still Carol went on blindly. “I’d like to work the way you do, Martin, and get oil and things on me from those machines. And that linotype you operate!” he continued. “I’d just _love_ that!” He put his hands flat on his trousers. “Imagine,” he said, turning to Deane at last, “having one of those big things to play with!”