“Not a jam,” I said. “He just told him to go back to town.” “I could see it coming,” Hogan said. “He never liked Soldier much.” “No. He don’t like many people.” “He’s a pretty cold one,” Hogan said. “Well, he’s always been fine to me.” “Me too,” Hogan said. “I got no kick on him. He’s a cold one, though.” Hogan went in through the screen door and I sat there on the porch and read the papers. It was just starting to get fall weather and it’s nice country there in Jersey, up in the hills, and after I read the paper through I sat there and looked out at the country and the road down below against the woods with cars going along it, lifting the dust up. It was fine weather and pretty nice-looking country. Hogan came to the door and I said, “Say, Hogan, haven’t you got anything to shoot out here?” “No,” Hogan said. “Only sparrows.” “Seen the paper?” I said to Hogan. “What’s in it?” “Sande booted three of them in yesterday.” “I got that on the telephone last night.” “You follow them pretty close, Hogan?” I asked. “Oh, I keep in touch with them,” Hogan said. “How about Jack?” I says. “Does he still play them?” “Him?” said Hogan. “Can you see him doing it?” Just then Jack came around the corner with the letter in his hand. He’s wearing a sweater and an old pair of pants and boxing shoes. “Got a stamp, Hogan?” he asks. “Give me the letter,” Hogan said. “I’ll mail it for you.” “Say, Jack,” I said, “didn’t you used to play the ponies?” “Sure.” “I knew you did. I knew I used to see you out at Sheepshead.” “What did you lay off them for?” Hogan asked. “Lost money.” Jack sat down on the porch by me. He leaned back against a post. He shut his eyes in the sun. “Want a chair?” Hogan asked. “No,” said Jack. “This is fine.” “It’s a nice day,” I said. “It’s pretty nice out in the country.” “I’d a damn sight rather be in town with the wife.” “Well, you only got another week.” “Yes,” Jack says. “That’s so.” We sat there on the porch. Hogan was inside at the office. “What do you think about the shape I’m in?” Jack asked me. “Well, you can’t tell,” I said. “You got a week to get around into form.” “Don’t stall me.” “Well,” I said, “you’re not right.” “I’m not sleeping,” Jack said. “You’ll be all right in a couple of days.” “No,” says Jack, “I got the insomnia.” “What’s on your mind?” “I miss the wife.” “Have her come out.” “No. I’m too old for that.” “We’ll take a long walk before you turn in and get you good and tired.” “Tired!” Jack says. “I’m tired all the time.” He was that way all week. He wouldn’t sleep at night and he’d get up in the morning feeling that way, you know, when you can’t shut your hands. “He’s stale as poorhouse cake,” Hogan said. “He’s nothing.” “I never seen Walcott,” I said. “He’ll kill him,” said Hogan. “He’ll tear him in two.” “Well,” I said, “everybody’s got to get it sometime.” “Not like this, though,” Hogan said. “They’ll think he never trained. It gives the farm a black eye.”