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started to let go, and if I didn’t grab him and Flanagan get an arm around him, he might have gone all the way down again on his head.
    When we got him into the bedroom he dropped flat on his belly on the bed like a dead one. I got scared, but after Flanagan switched on the light and put the cashbox down, he gave him a once-over and said he was okay, only hurt bad. I knew that all right; Flanagan didn’t have to tell it me.
    Then I saw the tickets on the dresser, and so many things came into my mind at once I couldn’t straighten them out. It wasn’t that I cared about not going to be fights, because after what happened it didn’t seem important any more. But then it hit me right between the eyes that Al Judge would be at the fights. He had to write about it, didn’t he? And all I could see was him sitting at the ringside with the back of his head lined right up in the sights of the revolver. Then pow! and he drops right down over the typewriter. If I waited for when there was real action in the fight and plenty of noise and excitement, nobody would ever know it was me who did it.
    There was a movie I saw where a guy was gunning for one of the prizefighters just that way. I couldn’t think right then if he got away with it or not because the next thought that tangled me up was if I killed Al Judge like that, he wouldn’t know why it happened, and the big thing was he had to know why it happened before he went.
    Besides, what was the use of knocking myself out over that, because if my father was hurt and couldn’t go to the fights, I knew I wasn’t going either. But I had to go. If I didn’t kill Al Judge right there, I could still keep an eye on him. Then after the fights I could shadow him until I got him in the right spot. Otherwise I might never find out where he was, and before I could it would be too late.
    Those tickets cost eight dollars apiece too, and that would be an awful waste.
    I picked up the tickets and stood there looking at them with my head buzzing round and round, and it was Flanagan who fixed everything up without even meaning to. He went into the bathroom, and I heard the water squirting into the bathtub. Then he came back and gave my father a boost so he was sitting up on the edge of the bed. I think maybe that shot of whisky had taken hold too, because my father’s eyes were as big and shiny as marbles and he hardly seemed to know what was going on.
    Flanagan started to peel his shirt off and said, ‘A nice warm tub, Andy, and you’ll feel like the jack of trump. Then we’ll get some stuff on that back and roll you to bed.’
    I don’t think my father knew what Flanagan said. He sat there looking at the wall like he was trying to remember something. Then he said, ‘I’m a little tired, that’s all. A little tired,’ and Flanagan helped him get on his feet and said, ‘Sure, sure, Andy, the tub is all ready now.’
    Then they got started into the bathroom very slow, and I heard the door close and a lot of splashing, so I figured he was in the bathtub.
    In all my life I never did anything my father told me not to. That little sip of beer didn’t count because Flanagan said it was tasting and not drinking. But in all the big things I did what my father wanted. Like the kids on the block had a Halloween party or something and he said don’t go, I didn’t go. I might be a little sore about it, but I didn’t let him know that.
    When the kids used to go down Ehrlich’s cellar and monkey around with girls, I mean not even the works, just feeling around and looking, I wanted to go more than anything else in the world. Only some drunk in the bar started talking about it, and my father told me not to do it. So I didn’t do that either. And I didn’t smoke and I only cursed when I forgot, because on my block it didn’t even sound like cursing. I mean, some kid would want to say it’s a very