man.
“Then why in hell are you laughing?” I said. “Does your underwear itch?”
“My underwear does not itch,” he said. “Nothing itches, and I ain’t laughing,” and now the girl begun to giggle louder and the man got all red in the face. “The reason I am laughing,” said the man, “is this,” and he went over to the wall where there was 3 green cabinets, and he begun to slide some drawers out as far as they would go, and he run his hand up and down the papers in the drawer. “Records,” he said. “Every 1 of these papers is a record on some kid that thinks he is another Joe DiMaggio or another Honus Wagner. They are just names. Your name is somewhere amongst them. How do we know who you are except just a name? You are but another name.”
A cold chill went through me. It was like somebody opened me up and slid a long icicle in and sewed me over, and I did not say another word, but I turned and went out of there and down the elevator and in the street.
I got my bags and got on the train, and soon she started, getting away without hardly so much as a lurch, and then we was in the sunshine and out of New York. I craned my head around and looked backwards at the city, and the buildings was all silver and misty in the sun. I watched a long time, and then the city begun to sink behind, and I knowed there would be a time when you could go in that city and go up in any of them buildings and collar any 10 people you meet and ask them, “Who is Henry Wiggen?” and 9 times in 10 they would know, even though now I was nobody, and the farther we went the nearer I was coming to the dream I dreamed all my life from the first time I seen Pop pitch a baseball. We was barely in Jersey, and yet I was excited, and all around there was houses and people, and I felt sorry for the people, for they was not going anywheres. They was stuck. And I was on the move and off towards the bright life, and I felt like life never been life a-tall, but just some sort of time of waiting, and now it was beginning, and all the past was dropping back at 70 miles an hour and maybe more, all washed away out of my sight and out of my remembrance.
I ate 2 steaks in the diner and a heap of fried potatoes and pie and 2 bottles of milk through a straw, and I give the waiter the last dollar bill from the open part of my wallet where I kept the small stuff, and I told him who I was and where I was going, and he claimed he was a pitcher himself in his college days.
I changed trains in Washington, and it begun to grow dark in Virginia, the whole country spreckled with lights, and it was about now that my money begun to run out except for what I had in my belt. I guess I did not figure it right when I started, or else I spent it too much in 1 place. I had forgot that meals was so high on the trains, and then on top of that I was tipping just about everybody I set eyes on. A fellow in the washroom said you got to tip them, for that is the way they make their living, and I said I did not mind tipping so long as I had the money, and he said he did not like tipping noways but did not see how to get out of it.
Still and all it sometimes went too far. That night they grabbed a hold of my shoes and shined them up. I never asked them to, and besides they had a high polish on them to begin with. Then just about every time we stopped for a few minutes I would slip my coat on and go down on the platform for a breath of fresh air, and they would come along with a whiz broom and brush me off with 1 hand and hold out their hand with the other, and I would plunk down 50 cents. When my money begun to run out I would plunk down only a quarter. Pretty soon I was down to giving out dimes, and then they stopped brushing me off altogether.
I loaned my last 5 dollars out of my wallet to the girl in the bunk below.
I was just about dropping off to sleep when she stuck her hand in through the curtain and shook me awake and asked me did I have a match. I told her I did
“Then why in hell are you laughing?” I said. “Does your underwear itch?”
“My underwear does not itch,” he said. “Nothing itches, and I ain’t laughing,” and now the girl begun to giggle louder and the man got all red in the face. “The reason I am laughing,” said the man, “is this,” and he went over to the wall where there was 3 green cabinets, and he begun to slide some drawers out as far as they would go, and he run his hand up and down the papers in the drawer. “Records,” he said. “Every 1 of these papers is a record on some kid that thinks he is another Joe DiMaggio or another Honus Wagner. They are just names. Your name is somewhere amongst them. How do we know who you are except just a name? You are but another name.”
A cold chill went through me. It was like somebody opened me up and slid a long icicle in and sewed me over, and I did not say another word, but I turned and went out of there and down the elevator and in the street.
I got my bags and got on the train, and soon she started, getting away without hardly so much as a lurch, and then we was in the sunshine and out of New York. I craned my head around and looked backwards at the city, and the buildings was all silver and misty in the sun. I watched a long time, and then the city begun to sink behind, and I knowed there would be a time when you could go in that city and go up in any of them buildings and collar any 10 people you meet and ask them, “Who is Henry Wiggen?” and 9 times in 10 they would know, even though now I was nobody, and the farther we went the nearer I was coming to the dream I dreamed all my life from the first time I seen Pop pitch a baseball. We was barely in Jersey, and yet I was excited, and all around there was houses and people, and I felt sorry for the people, for they was not going anywheres. They was stuck. And I was on the move and off towards the bright life, and I felt like life never been life a-tall, but just some sort of time of waiting, and now it was beginning, and all the past was dropping back at 70 miles an hour and maybe more, all washed away out of my sight and out of my remembrance.
I ate 2 steaks in the diner and a heap of fried potatoes and pie and 2 bottles of milk through a straw, and I give the waiter the last dollar bill from the open part of my wallet where I kept the small stuff, and I told him who I was and where I was going, and he claimed he was a pitcher himself in his college days.
I changed trains in Washington, and it begun to grow dark in Virginia, the whole country spreckled with lights, and it was about now that my money begun to run out except for what I had in my belt. I guess I did not figure it right when I started, or else I spent it too much in 1 place. I had forgot that meals was so high on the trains, and then on top of that I was tipping just about everybody I set eyes on. A fellow in the washroom said you got to tip them, for that is the way they make their living, and I said I did not mind tipping so long as I had the money, and he said he did not like tipping noways but did not see how to get out of it.
Still and all it sometimes went too far. That night they grabbed a hold of my shoes and shined them up. I never asked them to, and besides they had a high polish on them to begin with. Then just about every time we stopped for a few minutes I would slip my coat on and go down on the platform for a breath of fresh air, and they would come along with a whiz broom and brush me off with 1 hand and hold out their hand with the other, and I would plunk down 50 cents. When my money begun to run out I would plunk down only a quarter. Pretty soon I was down to giving out dimes, and then they stopped brushing me off altogether.
I loaned my last 5 dollars out of my wallet to the girl in the bunk below.
I was just about dropping off to sleep when she stuck her hand in through the curtain and shook me awake and asked me did I have a match. I told her I did
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