“That boy has had the makings of a sailor in him ever since he wet the bed,” said McGuire. “I predicted it long ago.”
Horse Hines came in briskly, but checked himself when he saw the two young men.
“Look out!” whispered the sailor to Eugene, with a crazy grin. “You’re next! He’s got his fishy eye glued on you. He’s already getting you measured up for one.”
Eugene looked angrily around at Horse Hines, muttering. The sailor chortled madly.
“Good-morning, gentlemen,” said Horse Hines, in an accent of refined sadness. “Boys,” he said, coming up to them sorrowfully, “I was mighty sorry to hear of your trouble. I couldn’t have thought more of that boy if he’d been my own brother.”
“Don’t go on, Horse,” said McGuire, holding up four fat fingers of protest. “We can see you’re heart-broken. If you go on, you may get hysterical with your grief, and break right out laughing. We couldn’t bear that, Horse. We’re big strong men, but we’ve had hard lives. I beg of you to spare us, Horse.”
Horse Hines did not notice him.
“I’ve got him over at the place now,” he said softly. “I want you boys to come in later in the day to see him. You won’t know he’s the same person when I’m through.”
“God! An improvement over nature,” said Coker. “His mother will appreciate it.”
“Is this an undertaking shop you’re running, Horse,” said McGuire, “or a beauty parlor?”
“We know you’ll d-d-do your best, Mr. Hines,” said the sailor with ready earnest insincerity. “That’s the reason the family got you.”
“Ain’t you goin’to eat the rest of your steak?” said the counter— man to Eugene.
“Steak! Steak! It’s not steak!” muttered Eugene. “I know what it is now.” He got off the stool and walked over to Coker. “Can you save me? Am I going to die? Do I look sick, Coker?” he said in a hoarse mutter.
“No, son,” said Coker. “Not sick—crazy.”
