| OCR Text |
Show Car Baseball Butch and Fenn Stories 83 "We could get that ball before Tiny wakes up," I say. "I could get another cup," Butch says. "Before Barbara gets up." I smile: "Howard's on third with Slaughter at the plate. And he is one steady hitter." Butch is up, wrapping his sleeping bag onto his bike. He says: "And Fenn is under the roof, waiting for a fly ball." "We're going to ride triple: me on the handlebars, Fenn on the crossbar. As we get on, Fenn says: "Hey, Butch, what about M.M.?" "Yeah, who is it?" "Give up?" "Yeah, we probably give up." Fenn's sleeping bag is dragging in the pedals, and he gets off the bike and throws it on the fence. "I'll get it later, okay?" "Mary Metcalf." "Mary Metcalf." I say- Butch has launched us down the driveway and we weave onto Emery Street going slower than a walk. Every time his knees come up Fenn gets kicked around. "You can't use kids we know," Fenn says. "I didn't know her very well," Butch says. "Why'd she move away?" "Too many kids, too much junk." |
