Dogs Don't Tell Jokes (Someday Angeline 2)

17.

He quit the talent show.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” asked Miss Langley.

He nodded, then watched her cross his name off the list.

It was just as well, he thought as he walked across the schoolyard. Now he’d be able to play football after school, or do his homework, instead of wasting so much time making up jokes that weren’t funny. And the best part was that he’d still get a hundred dollars from his parents for not telling a joke!

“Hey, Ira!” he called. “Michael! Steve!”

Michael and Steve were together, so it didn’t matter that Gary didn’t know who was Michael and who was Steve. They both said “Hi, Goon” back to him.

“I’m going to start collecting baseball cards,” Gary told them.

All three seemed genuinely gladdened by the news. They told Gary which brand to get, how much they cost, and which store seemed to have the best cards.

“But I guess it doesn’t matter with Goon,” said Steve (or Michael), “since he doesn’t have any yet.”

For some reason they all thought that was hilarious.

“Can’t get any doubles, can he?” asked Ira.

They laughed again.

Gary laughed with them.

The place that Ira said had the best baseball cards happened to be next door to Gary’s favorite thrift store. He went into the thrift store first, for old times’ sake.

“You’re the young man who collects hats,” said the elderly woman who ran the store.

He recognized her too. He always figured she didn’t have much money, to work in such a place, but there was something about her that impressed him as elegant. She had a very dignified way of talking. And the way she stood, so straight and tall—at least she seemed tall, though if he stood next to her, she’d probably only come up to his chin.

“I collect baseball cards, too,” he told her.

“I’m sorry I can’t be of help there,” she said. “But let me show you something that came in yesterday. I thought of you the moment I saw it.”

It was a navy-blue felt homburg, trimmed with a silver ribbon and ornamental button. The feather was yellow with a trace of white around the edges.

Gary tried it on. It was a little too tight for him. He looked at himself in the mirror.

The woman stood behind him. “Very dashing,” she said.

It did look pretty good, but he only had enough money for baseball cards. Besides, it was too tight. “Maybe another time,” he said.

He went next door and asked for a deck of baseball cards.

At dinner Gary broke the news about the talent show to his parents. “I know you don’t like me quitting something in the middle …” he started to explain.

“I think you made the right decision,” said his father. “If you must know, we were worried that you might be taking the talent show a bit too seriously.”

“We didn’t want to see you hurt when you didn’t win,” said his mother.

He told them about his new hobby—collecting baseball cards.

They approved.

“I used to have quite a baseball card collection myself,” his father said. “Willie Mays, Mickey Mantle …” He shook his head. “I wish I knew what happened to it. You know what those things are worth these days?” He looked Gary in the eye and spoke very seriously, like he was imparting great fatherly advice. “Whatever you do,” he said, “don’t throw away your baseball card collection.”