“Well, sir,” said Mack, “Hazel’s all the time buyin’ these here charts and lookin’ up lucky days and stars and stuff like that. And Hughie says it’s all a bunch of malarky. Hazel he says if you know when a guy is born you can tell about him and Hughie says they’re just sellin’ Hazel them charts for two bits apiece. Me, I don’t know nothin’ about it. What do you think, Doc?”

“I’d kind of side with Hughie,” said Doc. He stopped the ball mill, washed out the color gun and filled it with blue mass.

“They got goin’ hot the other night,” said Mack. “They ask me when I’m born so I tell ’em April 12 and Hazel he goes and buys one of them charts and read all about me. Well it did seem to hit in some places. But it was nearly all good stuff and a guy will believe good stuff about himself. It said I’m brave and smart and kind to my friends. But Hazel says it’s all true. When’s your birthday, Doc?” At the end of the long discussion it sounded perfectly casual. You couldn’t put your finger on it. But it must be remembered that Doc had known Mack a very long time. If he had not he would have said December 18 which was his birthday instead of October 27 which was not. “October 27,” said Doc. “Ask Hazel what that makes me.”

“It’s probably so much malarky,” said Mack, “but Haze! he takes it serious. I’ll ask him to look you up, Doc.”

When Mack left, Doc wondered casually what the build-up was. For he had recognized it as a lead. He knew Mack’s technique, his method. He recognized his style. And he wondered to what purpose Mack could put the information. It was only later when rumors began to creep in that Doc added the whole thing up. Now he felt slightly relieved, for he had expected Mack to put the bite on him.

Chapter XXVI

The two little boys played in the boat works yard until a cat climbed the fence. Instantly they gave chase, drove it across the tracks and there filled their pockets with granite stones from the roadbed. The cat got away from them in the tall weeds but they kept the stones because they were perfect in weight, shape, and size for throwing. You can’t ever tell when you’re going to need a stone like that. They turned down Cannery Row and whanged a stone at the corrugated iron front of Morden’s Cannery. A startled man looked out the office window and then rushed for the door, but the boys were too quick for him. They were lying behind a wooden stringer in the lot before he even got near the door. He couldn’t have found them in a hundred years.

“I bet he could look all his life and he couldn’t find us,” said Joey.

They got tired of hiding after a while with no one looking for them. They got up and strolled on down Cannery Row. They looked a long time in Lee’s window coveting the pliers, the back saws, the engineers’ caps and the bananas. Then they crossed the street and sat down on the lower step of the stairs that went to the second story of the laboratory.

Joey said, “You know, this guy in here got babies in bottles.”

“What kind of babies?” Willard asked.

“Regular babies, only before they’re borned.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Willard.

“Well, it’s true. The Sprague kid seen them and he says they ain’t no bigger than this and they got little hands and feet and eyes.”

“And hair?” Willard demanded.

“Well, the Sprague kid didn’t say about hair.”

“You should of asked him. I think he’s a liar.”

“You better not let him hear you say that,” said Joey.

“Well, you can tell him I said it. I ain’t afraid of him and I ain’t afraid of you. I ain’t afraid of anybody. You want to make something of it?” Joey didn’t answer. “Well, do you?”

“No,” said Joey. “I was thinkin’, why don’t we just go up and ask the guy if he’s got babies in bottles? Maybe he’d show them to us, that is if he’s got any.”

“He ain’t here,” said Willard. “When he’s here, his car’s here. He’s away some place. I think it’s a lie. I think the Sprague kid is a liar. I think you’re a liar. You want to make something of that?”

It was a lazy day. Willard was going to have to work hard to get up any excitement. “I think you’re a coward, too. You want to make something of that?” Joey didn’t answer. Willard changed his tactics. “Where’s your old man now?” he asked in a conversational tone.

“He’s dead,” said Joey.

“Oh yeah? I didn’t hear. What’d he die of?”

For a moment Joey was silent. He knew Willard knew but he couldn’t let on he knew, not without fighting Willard, and Joey was afraid of Willard.

“He committed — he killed himself.”

“Yeah?” Willard put on a long face. “How’d he do it?”

“He took rat poison.”

Willard’s voice shrieked with laughter. “What’d he think— he was a rat?”

Joey chuckled a little at the joke, just enough, that is.

“He must of thought he was a rat,” Willard cried. “Did he go crawling around like this — look, Joey — like this? Did he wrinkle up his nose like this? Did he have a big old long tail?” Willard was helpless with laughter. “Why’n’t he just get a rat trap and put his head in it?” They laughed themselves out on that one, Willard really wore it out. Then he probed for another joke. “What’d he look like when he took it — like this?” He crossed his eyes and opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue.