imagination, and I dressed in the suit I bought at the Arcade in Perkinsville and thought was so sharp at the time, and overcoat and hat and scarf and shoes, all new, and I grabbed my bags and shot downstairs, ducking under the beam at the bottom step that when I was a kid I leaped for and sometimes just managed to graze with the tip of my fingers, and out I slammed.
Then I just about fell over. Who is standing by my 50 Moors but Aaron Webster! “Good morning, Henry,” said he. “Off at last?”
“Oh no,” said I. “I always carry 2 suitcases around with me at half past 5 in the morning for the sake of balance.”
This was purely sarcastic, but he went right along with it. “Balance,” said he. “I do hope you keep your balance in the time ahead.”
“I will try,” I said. I had only the skimpiest notion what he was saying at the time. “Holy Christ,” said I, “it is freezing out here.” It was about 5 degrees above and my teeth was beginning to chatter. How he stood it I do not know, standing there with nothing on but this raggedy green jacket about 25 years old that he always wears. I used to practically vomit looking at that jacket. Aaron never lets the weather bother him. If I am in that much shape at 80 I will consider the job well done.
“Yes, it is cool,” said Aaron, “but I am planning no long discussion. I just come to give you a little gift.” He dug down in his pocket.
“Besides, it is 1 of my observations on life that old people cannot tell young people the score. We cannot pass along our knowledge. Young people must learn for themself. I am just hoping, Henry, that no matter if you fail or succeed in what you are about to try that you will keep your sense of humor. I also hope that you will keep your ways. You have always looked at things in a good way, finding the good things good and the boring things a bore. It would do no good for me to tell you that the bright world of glitter and glamor that you are heading towards is nothing but Graduation Night at Perkinsville High plus Tom Swallow’s Texaco Station. It is all a lot of hardware tinsel to cover the fact of the bore.”
“It is 25 of,” I said. “The train is at 6.”
“A great bore and a great fraud,” he said. “Yet I wish you success, for that is what you want. I only hope you will bear in mind that success is never a matter of how many people slap you on the back on your winning days. You must also be on the lookout for the few good friends who will come around on afternoons that you been knocked out of the box.”
“I certainly will,” I said. Time was inching by and he had yet to hand over the gift. I suppose I may of been short with him, and I am sorry for that. But it was not until more then 2 years afterwards, riding the lobby in Chicago 1 evening, that it all flashed in my mind, and I said upstairs to Perry Simpson later that night, “Does it not strike you as queer that at half past 5 in the cold morning it was not Bill Duffy nor Mayor Real nor Mugs O’Brien nor Jack Hand nor Mr. Gregory N. Oswald that give me my send-off, but Aaron Webster in his raggedy green jacket?” And Perry said it struck him as queer sure enough.
“I brung you a little something,” he said, and he give me a package all wrapped up, and I thanked him, and then he wished me luck about 9 times whilst I got the car started, and 1 minute later I was off and rolling. I done 75 clear to Perkinsville, parking the car in the slot in the depot that Gordon Heffel said was mine as long as I was gone.
Gordon is the station master, a great Mammoth fan and a great personal friend of both me and Pop.
Chapter 8
On the train between Perkinsville and New York I was dead from hunger and the diner shut tight. I would of give 10 dollars for breakfast right about then. Everybody was asleep all up and down the isles, slumped over in queer positions, and the man I was next to was grumbling away and adding up a lot of figures out loud until
Then I just about fell over. Who is standing by my 50 Moors but Aaron Webster! “Good morning, Henry,” said he. “Off at last?”
“Oh no,” said I. “I always carry 2 suitcases around with me at half past 5 in the morning for the sake of balance.”
This was purely sarcastic, but he went right along with it. “Balance,” said he. “I do hope you keep your balance in the time ahead.”
“I will try,” I said. I had only the skimpiest notion what he was saying at the time. “Holy Christ,” said I, “it is freezing out here.” It was about 5 degrees above and my teeth was beginning to chatter. How he stood it I do not know, standing there with nothing on but this raggedy green jacket about 25 years old that he always wears. I used to practically vomit looking at that jacket. Aaron never lets the weather bother him. If I am in that much shape at 80 I will consider the job well done.
“Yes, it is cool,” said Aaron, “but I am planning no long discussion. I just come to give you a little gift.” He dug down in his pocket.
“Besides, it is 1 of my observations on life that old people cannot tell young people the score. We cannot pass along our knowledge. Young people must learn for themself. I am just hoping, Henry, that no matter if you fail or succeed in what you are about to try that you will keep your sense of humor. I also hope that you will keep your ways. You have always looked at things in a good way, finding the good things good and the boring things a bore. It would do no good for me to tell you that the bright world of glitter and glamor that you are heading towards is nothing but Graduation Night at Perkinsville High plus Tom Swallow’s Texaco Station. It is all a lot of hardware tinsel to cover the fact of the bore.”
“It is 25 of,” I said. “The train is at 6.”
“A great bore and a great fraud,” he said. “Yet I wish you success, for that is what you want. I only hope you will bear in mind that success is never a matter of how many people slap you on the back on your winning days. You must also be on the lookout for the few good friends who will come around on afternoons that you been knocked out of the box.”
“I certainly will,” I said. Time was inching by and he had yet to hand over the gift. I suppose I may of been short with him, and I am sorry for that. But it was not until more then 2 years afterwards, riding the lobby in Chicago 1 evening, that it all flashed in my mind, and I said upstairs to Perry Simpson later that night, “Does it not strike you as queer that at half past 5 in the cold morning it was not Bill Duffy nor Mayor Real nor Mugs O’Brien nor Jack Hand nor Mr. Gregory N. Oswald that give me my send-off, but Aaron Webster in his raggedy green jacket?” And Perry said it struck him as queer sure enough.
“I brung you a little something,” he said, and he give me a package all wrapped up, and I thanked him, and then he wished me luck about 9 times whilst I got the car started, and 1 minute later I was off and rolling. I done 75 clear to Perkinsville, parking the car in the slot in the depot that Gordon Heffel said was mine as long as I was gone.
Gordon is the station master, a great Mammoth fan and a great personal friend of both me and Pop.
Chapter 8
On the train between Perkinsville and New York I was dead from hunger and the diner shut tight. I would of give 10 dollars for breakfast right about then. Everybody was asleep all up and down the isles, slumped over in queer positions, and the man I was next to was grumbling away and adding up a lot of figures out loud until
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