" "And why not, old saltwater?" inquired Ben, turning a quid in his mouth. She had remained patently unavailable to him. The pistol was lowered slightly. “I believe that you are right,” he said softly. Presently she was going through a swaying, noisy crowd, whose faces grinned and stared pitilessly in the light of the electric standards. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. He too was flushed and ruffled; one side of his collar had slipped from its stud and he held a hand to the corner of his jaw. And she would have rushed to him, if she had not been forcibly withheld by her son. That's one of the troubles with young folks: they take themselves so seriously.
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