As a matter of fact, I’m the only dumb one in the family. My brother D.B.’s a writer and all, and my brother Allie, the one that died, that I told you about, was a wizard.
She was the only one, outside my family, that I ever showed Allie’s baseball mitt to, with all the poems written on it.
He’s so good he’s almost corny. I don’t exactly know what I mean by that, but I mean it.
When I got out in front of Ernie’s and paid the fare, old Horwitz brought up the fish again. He certainly had it on his mind. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘If you was a fish, Mother Nature’d take care of you, wouldn’t she? Right? You don’t think them fish just die when it gets to be winter, do ya?’
In a funny way, though, I felt sorry for him when he was finished. I don’t even think he knows any more when he’s playing right or not. It isn’t all his fault. I partly blame all those dopes that clap their heads off—they’d foul up anybody, if you gave them a chance.