The lobby of the Pine Leaf was one floor up. A man seated in one of the chairs which lined the walls, was snoring loudly. “He must be sick,” thought Martin, for no one disturbed him. Martin leaned his bag near the desk and as he did so, a bull-necked sailor, his collar open, ran at him.
“Good God!” said the man. “We’ve grounded. Damn you, Captain! Keep her in the channel.” He held his fist menacingly.
“All right,” said Martin, stopping stock-still. “And now, look to your engines.”
The clerk behind the wire netting regarded them worriedly.
“Go back to your cabin, Danny,” he said. “We’ve taken on the pilot.”
Danny, shaking all over, looked once more at Martin and returned to his chair.
Martin handed his slip to the clerk who turned it nervously in his hand.
“Danny’s all right,” he said. “Liquor took his ticket. He never jumped like that before, though. Kind of look out, will you?”
“He didn’t mean anything.” Martin smiled reassuringly. “I jumped like that once myself.” He took his key and towel, packed his canvas up three flights of stairs and walked down the corridor to his room. It was a narrow, cell-like cubicle, furnished with a cot and a small locker. There was no light and the tiny window, high in the wall, admitted only a few indirect rays of sunshine. Martin sorted his gear, found his razor and went into the washroom.
Three men were huddled in a corner. As Martin lathered his face he looked in their direction and saw that they had a bottle of rubbing alcohol which they were diluting with warm water. After a good deal of grunting and shaking and laughing they held it to the light.
“Looks to me like Tri Gin,” said one whose hands shook violently.
“Looks to me like smoke,” said another, laughing and turning to Martin. “Have some smoke, Jack?” he asked.
“Ulcers,” he said, pointing to his stomach, and started shaving.
The men shook their heads sympathetically. This, they understood. They were dancing to the clapping of hands when Martin left.
In the low glim of his room he changed his shirt. He was about to lock his door when a lad ran frantically down the narrow hall, bumping into him. Martin held the boy coldly.
“Hide me,” sobbed the lad. “It’s Danny. He’s had smoke—” the sobs continued. “Danny thinks ... for Christ’s sake!—hide me!”