The long ash from his cigar had broken and fallen on his knees. James Merivale got to his feet and gravely brushed the light ash off his trousers. Then he settled down again and with an intent frown began to read the article on Foreign Exchange in the Wall Street Journal.
They sit up on two stools in the lunchwaggon.
“Say kid how the hell did you come to sign up on that old scow?”
“Wasnt anything else going out east.”
“Well you sure have dished your gravy this time kid, cap’n ’s a dopehead, first officer’s the damnedest crook out o Sing Sing, crew’s a lot o bohunks, the ole tub aint worth the salvage of her. … What was your last job?”
“Night clerk in a hotel.”
“Listen to that cookey … Jesus Kerist Amighty look at a guy who’ll give up a good job clerkin in a swell hotel in Noo York City to sign on as messboy on Davy Jones’ own steam yacht. … A fine seacook you’re goin to make.” The younger man is flushing. “How about that hamburger?” he shouts at the counterman.
After they have eaten, while they are finishing their coffee, he turns to his friend and asks in a low voice, “Say Rooney was you ever overseas … in the war?”
“I made Saint Nazaire a couple o times. Why?”
“I dunno. … It kinder gave me the itch. … I was two years in it. Things aint been the same. I used to think all I wanted was to get a good job an marry an settle down, an now I dont give a damn. … I can keep a job for six months or so an then I get the almighty itch, see? So I thought I ought to see the orient a bit. …”
“Never you mind,” says Rooney shaking his head. “You’re goin to see it, dont you worry about that.”
“What’s the damage?” the young man asks the counterman.
“They must a caught you young.”
“I was sixteen when I enlisted.” He picks up his change and follows Rooney’s broad shambling back into the street. At the end of the street, beyond trucks and the roofs of warehouses, he can see masts and the smoke of steamers and white steam rising into the sunlight.
“Pull down the shade,” comes the man’s voice from the bed.
“I cant, it’s busted. … Oh hell, here’s the whole business down.” Anna almost bursts out crying when the roll hits her in the face. “You fix it,” she says going towards the bed.
“What do I care, they cant see in,” says the man catching hold of her laughing.
“It’s just those lights,” she moans, wearily letting herself go limp in his arms.
It is a small room the shape of a shoebox with an iron bed in the corner of the wall opposite the window. A roar of streets rises to it rattling up a V shaped recess in the building. On the ceiling she can see the changing glow of electric signs along Broadway, white, red, green, then a jumble like a bubble bursting, and again white, red, green.
“Oh Dick I wish you’d fix that shade, those lights give me the willies.”
“The lights are all right Anna, it’s like bein in a theater. … It’s the Gay White Way, like they used to say.”
“That stuff’s all right for you out of town fellers, but it gives me the willies.”
“So you’re workin for Madame Soubrine now are you Anna?”
“You mean I’m scabbin. … I know it. The old woman trew me out an it was get a job or croak. …”
“A nice girl like you Anna could always find a boyfriend.”
“God you buyers are a dirty lot. … You think that because I’ll go with you, I’d go wid anybody. … Well I wouldnt, do you get that?”
“I didnt mean that Anna. … Gee you’re awful quick tonight.”
“I guess it’s my nerves. … This strike an the old woman trowin me out an scabbin up at Soubrine’s … it’d get anybody’s goat. They can all go to hell for all I care. Why wont they leave you alone? I never did nothin to hurt anybody in my life. All I want is for em to leave me alone an let me get my pay an have a good time now and then. … God Dick it’s terrible. … I dont dare go out on the street for fear of meetin some of the girls of my old local.”
“Hell Anna, things aint so bad, honest I’d take you West with me if it wasnt for my wife.”
Anna’s voice goes on in an even whimper, “An now ’cause I take a shine to you and want to give you a good time you call me a goddam whore.”
“I didnt say no such thing. I didnt even think it. All I thought was that you was a dead game sport and not a kewpie above the ears like most of ’em. … Look if it’ll make ye feel better I’ll try an fix that shade.”
Lying on her side she watches his heavy body move against the milky light of the window. At last his teeth chattering he comes back to her. “I cant fix the goddam thing. … Kerist it’s cold.”
“Never mind Dick, come on to bed. … It must be late. I got to be up there at eight.”
He pulls his watch from under the pillow. “It’s half after two. … Hello kitten.”
On the ceiling she can see reflected the changing glare of the electric signs, white, red, green, then a jumble like a bubble bursting, then again white, green, red.
“An he didn’t even invite me to the wedding. … Honestly Florence I could have forgiven him if he’d invited me to the wedding,” she said to the colored maid when she brought in the coffee. It was a Sunday morning. She was sitting up in bed with the
