“In the American League it is the Yankees as I said,”the old man said happily.
The boy was back now with the sardines and the two baits wrapped in a newspaper and they went down the trail to the skiff,feeling the pebbled sand under their feet,and lifted the skiff and slid her into the water.
The door of the house where the boy lived was unlocked and he opened it and walked in quietly with his bare feet.The boy was asleep on a cot in the first room and the old man could see him clearly with the light that came in from the dying moon.He took hold of one foot gently and held it until the boy woke and turned and looked at him.The old man nodded and the boy took his trousers from the chair by the bed and, sitting on the bed,pulled them on.
“What have you got?”he asked.
“I'm not very hungry.”
“I would like to take the great DiMaggio fishing,”the old man said.“ They say his father was a fisherman.Maybe he was as poor as we are and would understand.”
“I like the beer in cans best.”
“Sleep well old man.”
The boy went out.They had eaten with no light on the table and the old man took off his trousers and went to bed in the dark.He rolled his trousers up to make a pillow ,putting the newspaper inside them.He rolled himself in the blanket and slept on the other old newspapers that covered the springs of the bed.