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"Kluszewski," I tell him.
"How the hell you say it," Lennie says, "it's still a home run. That right, Joe?"
We stand there for a while, chewing the rag while I squirt the shrubbery, Saul puffs on the cigar and sits there with his arms folded across his chest. Lennie Brannick sits on the stoop and lights up a cigaret.
"You give Dressen a club hitting like this," Lennie says, "an' he'd never lose a ball game. You know what I mean? Allus liked Dressen?a noisy guy, but a great manager."
"Alston's all right," I tell him.
"That club we got this year," Saul puts in, "a two-headed zebra could manage. They oughtta win for anybody; they oughtta even win for your brother-in-law Nathan, Joe."
"Leave us not get on that subject," I tell him.
My wife calls through the screen door, "If you're going down to Klein's, stop at the delicatessen and pick up a few bottles of beer, Joe. The empties are on the back step."
I turn off the water because them shrubs have enough now. I say to Saul Ruskin under my breath, "I have to feed him beer now. It's not enough he eats my food. Luxuries he gets."
"That's relatives for you," Saul nods. "I got a cousin like that."