“Tell me about the baseball,” the boy asked him.
“In the American League it is the Yankees as I said,” the old man said happily.”
“They lost today,” the boy told him.
“That means nothing. The great DiMaggio is himself again.”
“They have other men on the team.”
“Naturally. But he makes the difference. In the other league, between Brooklyn and Philadelphia I must take Brooklyn. But then I think of Dick Sisler and those great drives In the old park.”
“There was nothing ever like them. He hits the longest ball I have ever seen.”
“Do you remember when he used to come to the Terrace?”
“I wanted to take him fishing but I was too timid to ask him. Then I asked you to ask him and you were too timid.”
“I know. It was a great mistake. He might have gone with us. Then we would have that for all of our lives.”
“I would like to take the great DiMaggio fishing,” the old man said. “They say his father was a fisherman. Maybe he was as poor as we are and would understand.”
“The great Sisler’s father was never poor and he, the father, was playing in the Big Leagues when he was my age.”
“When I was your age I was before the mast on a square rigged ship that ran to Africa and I have seen lions on the beaches in the evening.”
“I know. You told me.”
“Should we talk about Africa or about baseball?”
“Baseball I think,” the boy said. “Tell me about the great John J. McGraw.” He said Jota for J.
谁能告诉我没有写谁说的那些话是谁说的？