“You know where Key West is? Well, this Key Bonita is nowheres near there, not even in the same chain of islands. I looked it up in the atlas. —Say, this stuff is awful sweet.”

“I thought you’d like it that way. I pulled the handle down twice; that way you get two loads of syrup.”

“Oh,” Ralph said. “Well, it’s got a real nice flavor of root beer to it.” He took another sip.

“It’s too sweet, I can give you another one.”

But Ralph would not let go of the glass. “Now, Key West is one thing, but this Key Bonita is another kettle of fish. It hangs down off the Florida west coast, and it’s not a coral key. See, they got coral keys like Key West and then they got this other kind. I never went down there myself. I was never crazy about the water.”

“Berry-berry is,” said Clinton. “He’s nuts about the water. Everyplace he goes, it’s got water.”

Ralph agreed to this: “San Pedro, Biloxi, Norfolk; you’re right, goddamit, he’s just a nut on the subject of water. I never thought about that before.”

“I wonder,” Clinton said, “if he ever actually went out on the ocean.”

“Listen, are you kiddin’?” Ralph said. “Why the hell should I send that bozo two hundred dollars? Does he think I’m made of money, just go out in the yard and pluck it off a tree?”

“I don’t know.”

“I b’lieve the worst thing I could do would be send him two hundred dollars. Shrimp! I’d like to see all that shrimp, a thousand dollars in five days. Listen, my mother didn’t raise any foolish children! —And it’s not the money either, I care about. Do him good to get off his buns, raise two hundred himself. He’s got it in his head the only way to raise money is at the Western Union. He’s got it in his head the Western Union is some kind of a bank. He just goes in there, scribbles out some cock-‘n’-bull story, and out comes two hundred dollars. Listen, are you kiddin’?”

“Well, I just wondered.”

“Hey.” Ralph caught Clinton’s eye and held it. Then he said, quietly: “What d’you think I ought to do? I’ll leave it up to you.”

“Gee, Ralph, I just don’t know.”

“Well, I do. Listen, my old man knew the value of a buck. He was a blacksmith, strong as an ox. You want me tell you what a blacksmith would do, he got a wire like this?”

“What would he do?”

“Wouldn’t even answer it.”

“W-What’re you gonna do?” Clinton said.

“Not even gonna answer it.”

“Well, can I have it then?”

“What, this telegram? What do you want with it?”

“I thought I’d just keep it.”

“What for?”

“Oh, it doesn’t make any difference,” Clinton said, “I don’t care. —You keep it.”

“Naw,” Ralph said, “that’s all right, you can have it. Hell, I don’t want the thing.” He pushed the telegram across the counter. Clinton picked it up and started to fold it.