Well, one thing led to another, which was not unique in Mack’s experience. The girl was taking the long way to Jacksonville, Florida. Mack would have left her in Tacoma if his Geiger counter hadn’t throbbed him eastward. He got clear to Salina, Kansas, with the girl. On a hot muggy day the girl lunged at a fly on the bus and broke her watch, and only then did Mack discover that he had been following a radium dial. Romance alone was not enough for Mack at his age. He arrived back in Monterey on a flatcar, under a tarpaulin that covered a medium-sized tank destined for Fort Ord.

Over Doc and Mack a golden melancholy settled like autumn leaves, melancholy concocted equally of Old Tennis Shoes and old times, of friends lost and friends changed. And both of them knew they were avoiding one subject, telling minor stories to avoid a major one. But at last they were dry, and their subject confronted them.

Doc opened with considerable bravery. “What do you think of the new owner over at the grocery?”

“Oh, he’s all right,” said Mack. “Kind of interesting. The only trouble is he can’t never take Lee Chong’s place. There was never a friend like Lee Chong,” Mack said brokenly.

“Yes, he was wise and good,” said Doc.

“And tricky,” said Mack.

“And smart,” said Doc.

“He took care of a lot of people,” said Mack.

“And he took a few,” said Doc.

They volleyed Lee Chong back and forth, and their memories built virtues that would have surprised him, and cleverness and beauty too. While one told a fine tale of that mercantile Chinaman the other waited impatiently to top the story. Out of their memories there emerged a being scarcely human, a dragon of goodness and an angel of guile. In such a way are the gods created.

But the bottle was empty now, and its emptiness irritated Mack, and his irritation oozed toward Lee Chong’s memory.

“The son-of-a-bitch was sneaky,” said Mack. “He should of told us he was going to sell out and go away. It wasn’t friendly, doing all that alone without his friends to help.”