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ke in good yet, and Carey says the glove could easy of been Kid Gleason's gran'father. He made a whale of a catch out o' the next one and Carey says "Nice work!" or somethin' like that, but Ike says he could of caught the ball with his back turned only he slipped when he started after it and, besides that, the air currents fooled him.
"I thought you done well to get to the ball," says Carey.
"I ought to been settin' under it," says Ike.
"What did you hit last year?" Carey ast him.
"I had malaria most o' the season," says Ike. "I wound up with .356."
"Where would I have to go to get malaria?" says Carey, but Ike didn't wise up.
I and Carey and him set at the same table together for supper. It took him half an hour longer'n us to eat because he had to excuse himself every time he lifted his fork.
"Doctor told me I needed starch," he'd say, and then toss a shoveful o' potatoes into him. Or, "They ain't much meat on one o' these chops," he'd tell us, and grab another one. Or he'd say: "Nothin' like onions for a cold," and then he'd dip into the perfumery.
"Better try that apple sauce," says Carey. "It'll help your malaria."
"Whose malaria?" says Ike. He'd forgot already why he didn't only hit .356 last year.
I and Carey begin to lead him on.
"Whereabouts did you say your home was?" I ast him. "I live with my folks," he says. "We live in Kansas City--not right down in the business part--outside a ways."
"How's that come?" says Carey. "I should think you'd get rooms in the post office."
But Ike was too busy curin' his cold to get that one.
"Are you married?" I ast him.
"No," he says. "I never run round much with girls, except to shows onct in a wile and parties and dances and roller skatin'."
"Never take 'em to the prize fights, eh?" says Carey.
"We don't have no real good bouts," says Ike. "Just bush stuff. And I never figured a boxin' match was a place for the ladies."
Well, after supper he pu