“Tell me about the baseball,”The boy asked him.
They walked down the road to the old man's shack and all along the road,in the dark,barefoot men were moving, carrying the masts of their boats.
“Que va.”The boy said.“ It is what a man must do.”
“Good night then.I will wake you in the morning.”
“There was nothing ever like them.He hits the longest ball I have ever seen.”
They had coffee from condensed milk cans at an early morning place that served fishermen.
“How did you sleep old man?”the boy asked.He was waking up now although it was still hard for him to leave his sleep.
“Do you want coffee?”the boy asked.
“No.I know others better.”
The old man drank his coffee slowly.It was all he would have all day and he knew that he should take it.For a long time now eating had bored him and he never carried a lunch.He had a bottle of water in the bow of the skiff and that was all he needed for the day.
“The great Sisler's father was never poor and he,the father,was playing in the big leagues when he was my age.”
“Your stew is excellent,”the old man said.
“And the best fisherman is you.”
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.