"What! That little monkey-faced fool?"
"Oh, I know you could have licked him, but I'm glad you didn't fight."
A couple passed them, carrying cigarettes that glowed brightly in the night. Beneath was the lustrous, splashing river, and above, a tranquil ceiling of stars.
"Funny," Dot said, and her voice was low. "We see each other here tonight and then never again." She waved toward the place where Edna had disappeared with the sleek-haired boy. "Why did you meet that Higgins girl, I wonder? It wasn't for anything. You just meet and talk and fight and forget. I wonder why."
"Say, what are you talking about?"
She smiled a little, and her eyes were wide and childish in the moonlight. "I feel mopey now," she said. "It's 'cause they're playing sad music, I guess."
She leaned against the rail and listened. Some one who could coax forth all the native pathos and grief there is in the melody was playing "Aloha Oe" on a steel guitar.
"Ain't that sad?" Dot asked. "Gee, it makes me feel so soft." She reached for his hand, and these two children stood together, silent and solemn, on the deck of the noisy Burma. "Gee, I could cry," she said. "Honest to God, Joe, I could cry."
Her dark, full lips quivered, and his grasp on her thin, nail-bitten fingers tightened ever so slightly.
"My name's not Joe. It's Eddie. Eddie Collins," he said, and his tone was harsh and angry.
