Babe & Me Read Online Free PDF

happened a few minutes ago,” Walsh said. “He felt bad and asked me to tell you to stop by his suite at the Ansonia Hotel tonight. He’ll give you all the autographs you want.”
    â€œWe’ll be there!” Dad exclaimed, pumping the guy’s hand vigorously.
    When Walsh disappeared into the crowd of faces on the street, Dad and I looked at each other and laughed.
    â€œWe’re gonna meet Babe Ruth!” I said gleefully.
    â€œAnd get all the autographs we want!” Dad said, just as happily. I don’t think the two of us had shared a laugh since I was about six or seven years old.

7
Three Strikes You’re Out
    THE ANSONIA HOTEL, WE FOUND OUT, WAS ON SEVENTY-FOURTH Street. We were at Fourteenth Street. So we had to go sixty blocks to get to Babe Ruth’s hotel. We started walking uptown.
    Just around the corner from Union Square Park was a large building with four round columns in front of it. The sign on the front read: NEW YORK SAVINGS AND LOAN .
    A line of people outside the front door of the bank stretched all the way down the street. It looked as if they were waiting for the bank to open. That was strange, Dad said, because it was already past closing time. He checked his money. If the bank was still open, he said, he’d deposit his five thousand dollars and let it earn interest for the next seventy years.
    â€œI want my money!” a young guy yelled angrily as we got closer.
    â€œOpen the doors!” an old lady shouted.
    â€œGive us back our money!” a group of people chanted. “Give us back our money!”
    Dad pushed up to the front door and asked the young guy what was going on.
    â€œThey won’t let us in,” he complained. “I want to take out my money.”
    â€œIsn’t it past closing time?” Dad asked.
    â€œWe want our money!” somebody yelled.
    â€œY’know,” Dad told the guy, “if you just leave that money in the bank and wait long enough, you’ll eventually be rich.”
    The people in the front of the line looked at Dad angrily and began shouting.
    â€œWho asked you, pal?”
    â€œWhat do you know, you idiot?”
    â€œMister, I don’t have time to wait around,” the young guy told Dad. “I need money to buy dinner tonight . My kids are hungry now.”
    â€œYou look like you got plenty of dough, you with them fancy clothes,” a lady shouted at Dad. “How about sharing the wealth?”
    â€œYeah!”
    I was afraid they were going to start beating up Dad or something and take his money. But suddenly the front door of the bank opened a crack. Everybody rushed to get back in line.
    â€œGo home!” a voice called from inside. “This bank is officially closed.”
    â€œClosed? Until when?” a lady wearing a tattered coat asked desperately.
    â€œUntil forever!” came the reply. The door slammed shut in her face.
    The mob of people started pounding on the door. Four policemen mounted on horses arrived quickly, so Dad and I didn’t stick around. Neither did most of the people in line. Nobody would be putting their money in or taking it out of that bank for a long time.
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    â€œThat’s only strike one,” Dad said as we walked up Fifth Avenue. “We’re not out yet.”
    â€œDon’t we have to get to Chicago for Game Three, Dad?”
    â€œRelax,” my father said. “They’re not going to start the game without Babe Ruth, and he’s still in New York.”
    We passed Eighteenth Street, Twentieth Street, and Twenty-third Street, where we saw that famous building that looks like a big iron. Every so often Dad would tap a stranger on the shoulder and whisper something into the stranger’s ear. Usually he would just shrug his shoulders.
    â€œWhat are you doing, Dad?” I finally asked.
    â€œTrying to find us a bookie,” he replied.
    After getting five or six shrugs from people, Dad tapped a