“I like the beer in cans best.”
He was asleep in a short time and he dreamed of Africa when he was a boy and the long golden beaches and the white beaches,so white they hurt your eyes,and the high capes and the great brown mountains.He lived along that coast now every night and in his dreams he heard the surf roar and saw the native boats come riding through it.He smelled the tar and oakum of the deck as he slept and he smelled the smell of Africa that the land breeze brought at morning.
“Come on and eat.You can't fish and not eat.”
“Black beans and rice,fried bananas,and some stew.”
“Naturally.But he makes the difference.In the other league, between Brooklyn and Philadelphia I must take Brooklyn.But then I think of Dick Sisler and those great drives in the old park.”
“Tell me about the baseball,”The boy asked him.
“I have,”the old man said getting up and taking the newspaper and folding it.Then he started to fold the blanket.“Keep the blanket around you,”the boy said.You'll not fish without eating while I'm alive.
“I think so.”
“I do not like for him to waken me.It is as though I were inferior.”
“Then live a long time and take care of yourself,”the old man said.“ What are we eating?”