The city man got up from his chair and walked over, rubbing his hair.
"Tommy," he said, "may I ask just what happens when you decide to wear your—well, say, your blue shoes. Where do you go from there?"
"Oh," said Tommy, "I could go in many directions. Maybe I'd wear some dark-red, some maroon slacks and a blue shirt and a white straw hat. That's just one possibility. A lot would depend on my mood, you understand my meaning?"
"You never wear a cap anymore, I notice," said the city man. "You're like Sam Snead, he always wears a straw."
"True," said Tommy, "but our motives are different. I wear a straw as a fashion piece. Sam wears a straw hat because he is bald-headed. When he had his hair, Sambo didn't mind going bare-headed. Of course, that was long, long before my time."
"Well," said the golf cart man, "I'll get going now and line up my photographer." He drew in his stomach. "Much obliged, Tommy," he said, "for those tips about diet." He hurried away.
Tommy turned to the city man.
"Don't be embarrassed," he said.
"I'm not embarrassed," said the city man. "Why would I be embarrassed?*'
"About that shirt. You don't want to wear a long-sleeve shirt down here. Besides, the coloring does not suit you. I'll go get you a short-sleeve shirt and then we'll take a nice little boat ride on the river. Peaceful and quiet. What do you say, Jimbo?"