"He buys all the ones he wants," Bill said. "Or he makes them discontented so they have to trade them to him."
"Like Heinie Zim," Nick agreed.
"That bonehead will do him a lot of good."
Bill stood up.
"He can hit," Nick offered. The heat from the fire was baking his legs.
"He's a sweet fielder, too," Bill said. "But he loses ball games."
"Maybe that's what McGraw wants him for," Nick suggested.
"Maybe," Bill agreed.
"There's always more to it than we know about," Nick said.
"Of course. But we've got pretty good dope for being so far away."
"Like how much better you can pick them if you don't see the horses."
"That's it."
Bill reached down the whisky bottle. His big hand went all the way around it. He poured the whisky into the glass Nick held out.
"How much water?"
"Just the same."
He sat down on the floor beside Nick's chair.
"It's good when the fall storms come, isn't it?" Nick said.
"It's swell."
