1919 Read Online Free PDF Page B

town were crowded; hindoos with turbans, chinks in natty Hart Schaffner and Marx clothes, redfaced white men dressed in white, raggedy shines of all colors.
    Joe felt uncomfortable going through the lobby of the hotel in his dungarees, pretty wet at that, and he needed a shave. The man who said his name was Jones put his arm over his shoulders going up the stairs. His room was big with tall narrow shuttered windows and smelt of bay rum. “My, but I’m hot and wet,” he said. “I’m going to take a shower . . . but first we’d better ring for a couple of gin fizzes. . . . Don’t you want to take your clothes off and take it easy? His
skin’s about as much clothes as a fellow can stand in this weather.” Joe shook his head, “They stink too much,” he said. “Say, have you got them papers?”
    The hindoo servant came with the drinks while the man who said his name was Jones was in the bathroom. Joe took the tray. There was something about the expression of the hindoo’s thin mouth and black eyes looking at something behind you in the room that made Joe sore. He wanted to hit the tobaccocolored bastard. The man who said his name was Jones came back looking cool in a silk bathrobe.
    â€œSit down, Slim, and we’ll have a drink and a chat.” The man ran his fingers gently over his forehead as if it ached and through his curly black hair and settled in an armchair. Joe sat down in a straight chair across the room. “My, I think this heat would be the end of me if I stayed a week in this place. I don’t see how you stand it, doing manual work and everything. You must be pretty tough!”
    Joe wanted to ask about the newspapers but the man who said his name was Jones was talking again, saying how he wished he was tough, seeing the world like that, meeting all kinds of fellows, going to all kinds of joints, must see some funny sights, must be funny all these fellows bunking together all these days at sea, rough and tumble, hey? and then nights ashore, raising cain, painting the town red, several fellows with one girl. “If I was living like that, I wouldn’t care what I did, no reputation to lose, no danger of somebody trying to blackmail you, only have to be careful to keep out of jail, hay? Why, Slim, I’d like to go along with you and lead a life like that.” “Yare?” said Joe.
    The man who said his name was Jones rang for another drink. When the hindoo servant had gone Joe asked again about the papers. “Honestly, Slim, I looked everywhere for them. They must have been thrown out.” “Well, I guess I’ll be gettin’ aboard my bloody limejuicer.” Joe had his hand on the door. The man who said his name was Jones came running over and took his hand and said, “No, you’re not going. You said you’d go on a party with me. You’re an awful nice boy. You won’t be sorry. You can’t go away like this, now that you’ve got me feeling all sort of chummy and you know amorous. Don’t you ever feel that way, Slim? I’ll do the handsome thing. I’ll give you fifty dollars.” Joe shook his head and pulled his hand away.
    He had to give him a shove to get the door open; he ran down the white marble steps and out into the street.
    It was about dark; Joe walked along fast. The sweat was pouring off him. He was cussing under his breath as he walked along. He felt rotten and sore and he’d wanted real bad to see some papers from home.
    He loafed up and down in a little in the sort of park place where he’d sat that afternoon, then he started down towards the wharves. Might as well turn in. The smell of frying from eating joints reminded him he was hungry. He turned into one before he remembered he didn’t have a cent in his pocket. He followed the sound of a mechanical piano and found himself in the red light district. Standing in the doorways of the little