Evening star., 1939-04-23

i worried about Pop. Not
about Pops age, which was seventy
two: nor about his small income,
which up to couple of years ago had
seemed ample for the old gents simple
needs 1t was the scuffed shoes; the
increasingly shabby overcoat; the
pipe that had replaced Pops mild
ten-cent cigar Masterson had been
cop long enough to know the ugly men,
tai twist that can sometimes come to
nice old guys who live alone.
As young man Pop had been a
marine engineer on banana freighter
in the Caribbean. That was long
time ago. His wife and one of his three
children were long since dead. The
other two were married and gone. Pop
owned bit of property which brought
him enough to live on. Yet as he passed
the corner on his daily walk to the
Square, Masterson saw another home
made patch on his overcoat. A damned
shame! Some day Pop would fail to
show up and someone would bust in
his door. Ten to one they'd find
satchel in his shabby room stuffed
with well-fingered cash. Just another
nice old guy who had lived by himself
too long :.
In the Square where Pop always
walked it was cold with the cheerless
gray of approaching winter. An icy
wind whipped at the tail of Pops thin
overcoat. But he was warm inside;
deliberately he slowed his over-eager
steps. He took the longest possible
path to the Autographed sunshine in
the show window of the travel agency
on the street beyond the Square
Sail, ho!' Pop whispered.
That was silly. he knew; as young
man Pop had been in steam. This ship
his ship. please God! - was like
bright red cliff, its single funnel black
against the magic blue of the Carib-
bean. None of your sissy ships, this!
A sturdy freighter with accommoda-
tions for not too many passengers.
The printed list of the islands she
visited was on the poster in the win
dow. St. Kits and Barbados. Qua
deloupe and Dominica -.
Two hundred and fifty dollars;
that's what it took. Dime and dollar.
Pop had scrimped for three years. The
craving to 60 was fame in his thin
ming blood. 1t was hard not to tell
people about it; but this sea hunger
out of the remembered past was
something a man couldn't explain in
words. Pictures - Pop could see them
most clearly, lying in bed with closed
eyes just before he fell asleep. The
greasy cable of hosting engine and
sweat glistening on the black torsos
of native stevedores >. Reefs whittier
than snow from the tumble of warm
surf The tropic smells . .
Stencil of blue mud at low tide. And
far out at sea, deep down in an iron
hull. the reek of scorched oil in the
patched engines of a banana freighter.
Not many days to wait now! Before
snow flew Pop would be on deck
watching the Battery fade astern,
listening to the shrill whimper of gulls.
He'd break the seal on his box of
cigars. smoke his first ten-center in
nearly three years.
He went back to his cheap room.
eager to unlock his closet door and
finger for the thousandth time the
things he had so slowly accumulated
Clothes and luggage and money; there
were even few dollars extra to bring
back gifts for George and Kate and
for Harry and Jenny. Pop missed his
two sons, particularly Harry. Harry
had been born late in Pops life: he
was only twenty-five now. He and
Jen lived in Bridgeport. where he had
a precarious job as salesman. Occa-
sionallv he sent Pop little money;