"I've heard of men like you."

"What do you mean, men like me?"

"Men that pretend to love a girl, and then make her go out and-love other men for the money they bring back, and-"

"Are you loving Jansen?"

"Almost."

"That word is important."

"I don't see that it is."

"It is to me."

"Ben, why do you treat me like this?"

"Didn't you hear me? If you want to go, you can."

"I don't want to. I can't."

"Now we got that straight at last."

He sat at the other end of the sofa, squashed his cigarette, looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes, said, "Now we can talk about love." She had doubled over into a tiny knot, her face i on her knees, and there ensued an interval in which she sobbed, and twisted her handkerchief, and seemed to go through some sort of inner struggle. Then she threw herself on him, held her \ mouth against his, twisted his hair with her fingers, and gave? way to tremulous, half-sobbing little laughs.

Chapter 8

Lefty, dropping in at Ben's apartment, looked exactly as he had looked the day of the Castleton robbery; the elegant surroundings, indeed, only accentuated his ill-fitting suit, his bandy-legged walk, his air of bucolic simplicity. He came in with a friendly hello, marched vacantly around for a few moments, then stood at the window, taking in the view from the high tower of the hotel. The whole city was visible, and in the distance the lake looked blue under the haze of approaching autumn. Something caught his ear. He looked, and a smile spread over his face. "Did you hear it, Ben? There's nothing like it, I swear there isn't-that sound of a shoe on a football. I knew it, soon as I heard it, and sure enough, there they are down there, kicking it around. Don't you love it?"

"Not noticeably."

Surprised, Lefty turned around. Ben seemed dejected. He sat on the sofa, his elbows on his knees, and stared at his feet. They were turned inwards, with a juvenile, ineffectual, pigeon-toed effect that enhanced the suggestion of smallness that hung over everything that he did. Lefty blinked, then laughed. "Oh-I forgot."

"You expect me to love football you'll be disappointed."

"How long did you play, Ben?"

"I played grammar school, my last two years, then four years high school. I played three years college, then two more years college, under a phony name, until a place up the line found out who I was and I had to quit. Then I played two years pro. I played so many games I can't remember them all, and them that I can remember, I generally don't if I can help it."

"Thirteen years, altogether."

"Something like that."

"What position did you play?"

"I started in the line, because I was big. When I was sixteen I weighed one seventy. I played guard and tackle, and my last year high school I played center. Then my growth caught up and I began to get fast and they moved me out to end. Then they found out I could pass and for a season I played quarter, but I was no good at it."

"Why not?"

"Dumb on plays."

"Where next?"

"Two steps rear. Somewhere along the line I'd learned to kick, and I did all right at fullback. Then I began to show class at broken-field running, and they shifted me to half. That was what I was really good at, staying with an interference and holding my feet in a field. I was good for a couple of yards even after I was tackled-just stagger yardage, but it helped. Sometimes you could score with it. At that stuff I was O.K."

"Every position there was, hey?"

"Oh, and coach, I forgot. My last year at pro."

"And still you don't like it?"

"You ever play, Lefty?"

"Little bit in high school."

"I never saw a player that liked it. Maybe he tells the girls he likes it but he wouldn't try to tell another player and get away with it. There's nothing about it to like. First you got to train. You can't take punishment and smoke, booze, or do any of those things. Then it hurts. All of it hurts, from blocking an end to blocking a punt. Boy, is that one for the books, taking a football right in the puss and then grabbing it to score. And there's no soft spots, like in baseball where you play half the game on the bench. It's all right, I guess. You get some cheers and you get some dough. But the cheers, they're in the stand and the dough's in the dressing room. What goes on out there on the field is just nothing to write home about. I hear those kids down there, kicking it around, sure I hear them. But I'm not getting up to look. You don't mind, do you?"

"Say, that's a laugh."

"What's a laugh?"

"You, dumb on plays. You can call 'em now, hey?"

"They said I was dumb, and I let it go at that, but that wasn't really my trouble. When a guy was all in, when he was out on his feet and had no more to give, I hated to hit him with the whip. I kept trying to do it myself. Well, there's spots in a game where a quarterback run's not smart, that's all. I got the same trouble now. I call 'em, because I got to. But I don't like it any, and I'm always wishing I could do it myself. What's on your mind?"

"Cantrell."

"And what about him?"

"He wants to see you."

"I'm right here and I'm not made of glass."

"Ben, can I say something?"

"Sure, go ahead."

"Why can't you be like you used to be, a guy that was reasonable and that somebody could get along with? What are you trying to pull off, anyhow? A bum imitation of Solly Caspar? It's not you, Ben. For instance, there's no reason why you can't drop over to see Cantrell. And you ought to. Chief of Police is no office boy's job. And he's dangerous. He can do things to you."

"You really want to know?"

"I do, indeed. We're pals, aren't we?"

"I got to make him come here."

"Why?"

"Well, in the first place I tried being nice to Joe. I tried being reasonable and doing business the way I like to do it. And what happened? He began telling me where to get off. He began measuring it up, what he'd take and what he wouldn't take. And right there was when I remembered something I'd been trying to forget-something you said that day when we were fanning along waiting for the bank to be held up. You said: A big operator, he runs it or he don't operate. And what I was trying to be was a big operator. It was just a piece of luck that gave me the chance, but there it was, if I wanted it. You think I was letting Cantrell stand in my way? You think I was caring about his feelings? I let him have it. I got to make him come here. If I don't I got no team. Call him up now. Tell him to come over."

"Look, you call him. I-"

"Didn't you hear me? I said call him."

Mr. Cantrell, who always looked as though he had just emerged from a barber shop, arrived in a surprisingly short time. He said that by a singular coincidence he was on his way to this very hotel, on another matter, when Lefty caught him. He asked how do you explain that? He said his wife was a great believer in thought transference, but that he himself didn't pay much attention to it, except that when something like this happens it sure does look funny. He said Ben was gaining weight, the least little bit. He said: "What's bothering you, Ben?"

"Heard you wanted to see me."

"Yeah, there's a couple of things."

"Uncouple them, then."

"Like, for instance, the bookies."

"They giving trouble?"

"Well, have we got bookies, or not?"

"Well, they're there, aren't they?"

"Yeah, but are they supposed to be there?"

"Go on, Joe. What's the rest of it?"

"Well, look, this Jansen has tasted glory and he likes it, see? After I cleaned up pinball and he got all those editorials in the newspapers patting him on the back, why, he wants more, only a lot. Well, there they are, those bookies, and there's Jansen, coming in to my office every day, talking about them."