“Except like that,” Hoey said. “What are we anyway, a pack of no-account field hands?”

“Tote that bat, lift that base,” Sloan said.

“What will the Dominican Jigaboos-sorry, Touristers-do with their five hundred?” Sosebee asked.

“I don’t know,” Mister JayMac said. “Keep it, I imagine. They’ve got big expenses, their players need the money.”

“I need the money,” Hoey said. “Ever try to feed four house apes on a hundred-plus a month?”

“Hoey’s making a hundred-plus a month?” Musselwhite’s eyes went round, like such a salary staggered him.

“Hold it,” Sosebee said. “You want us to play a bunch of jigs-uh, coloreds-in front of a bunch of coloreds, and to do it for nuthin?”

“For the morale of the recruits,” Mister JayMac said. “For the joy of it. To face a squad of unknown players as good as, if not a smidgen better than, ourselves.”

Trapdoor Evans said, “They could ever one of em out-play me from here to Timbuctoo, sir, but they’s still no way-no way in hell-it’d make a one of em bettern me.”

“You said it,” Sudikoff said.

“Who plans to suit up for this Mr Bossy Nut fella on his Splendid Dominican so-and-so’s?” Curriden asked. “A whole club of Negro League all-stars?”

“No,” Mister JayMac said. “Jes better-than-most journeymen players. Yall won’t have to face the likes of Satchel Paige, Josh Gibson, or Cool Papa Bell.”

“Who?” Fadeaway Ankers said.

“But never you fear, these barnstormers’ll make LaGrange’s Gendarmes look like beginning Little Leaguers.”

Henry spoke up from the back of the room. “When would we play them, if we played?”

“Good question,” Mister JayMac said. “Two Tuesdays from now, the twenty-seventh of July. The only time our schedule permits.”

“No peace for the pooped,” Muscles said. “Couldn’t this screw our shot at the pennant, Mister JayMac?”

“One game? Maybe. But only if Mr Clerval has a heart attack walloping one to the Canary Islands.”

“Let’s v-v-vote,” I said.

“I don’t play coloreds,” Fadeaway said. “Teams of em.”

“Me either,” Evans said.

“Ditto,” Sloan said. “To do great on a jig hunt, / Wear chocolate pigment / Exactly like your prey’s. / Thank God I’ve never gone through that phase.”

“Thank you, Mr Longfellow,” Mister JayMac said. “That’s three outright nays, I take it. Any more?”

“Here,” Sudikoff said. “No!”

“And here,” Sosebee said. “No!”

“Last chance,” Mister JayMac said. “Five nays to what I guess is fifteen unvoiced ayes.”

“I abstain,” Pete Hay said.

“What a pussy,” Mariani said.

“What do you mean, a pussy?” Hay said.

“A fence sitter’s got no balls,” Mariani said.

“Hush,” Mister JayMac said. “I’d hoped for unanimity in this vote. Virtual unanimity. But when a quarter of you have reservations about the appropriateness of this game, it gives me pause. I wonder about the commitment of the nay-sayers to play their hardest.”

“Cripes, sir,” Sloan said. “Don’t try to blackmail an aye out of us with this commitment guff. I mean, we-”

“Yall’re scairt you’ll git whupped,” Darius said.

Every head in the room turned towards him. He lifted his gaze from the floor and drilled Sloan with it.

“Ten dollars to every No sez them Dominicans’ll smack yall like a baby’s butt. If you got the grit to play em.”

“You aint got fifty bucks to bet,” Trapdoor Evans said. “You aint got ten to bet me.”

Darius strode like a crop fire up to Mister JayMac. “Give me fifty, sir. Gainst my nex draw.”

Mister JayMac took a money clip from his seersucker jacket, peeled off five tens, and slapped them into Darius’s palm.

Darius walked through the crowded parlor to Henry and gave him the five tens. “Mister Henry, hold this please. If yall vote it unanimous to play Mr Cozy’s boys, the bet’s on. Yall win, I pay. Hellbenders lose, like yall gon to, I git ten each from Mr Ankers, Mr Sloan, Mr Sudikoff, Mr Sosebee, and the bettern-anybody-colored Mr Evans.”

One by one, the nay-sayers changed their nays to ayes and walked over to Henry to give him either a ten-spot or a signed IOU; then they returned to their places. Henry arranged the wager money in his billfold and then slid the billfold into his frock coat. Jumbo Hank Clerval, reluctant bookie.

“I want in,” Hay said. “I vote nay too.”

“You abstained,” Mister JayMac said. “Election’s over. I don’t hold with gambling, especially for players. Except this is gonna be a unofficial exhibition, I’d veto it here too.”

“You’re a paragon, sir,” Buck Hoey said.

Mister JayMac ignored him. “Our next vote’s on the Army’s lump-sum payment. Do we return it, or do yall divvy it mongst yourselves?”

Uh-oh. Which way did you jump on this one? Patriotism or self-interest?

Curriden said, “Look. We’ll support the war effort by playing a game for Camp Penticuff’s darky recruits.” He looked at Darius. “Aint that enough? Do we have to fork over our pay too? Bet you a pork side, Mr Cozy’s boys keep theirs.”

“I don’t care what yall do with yo money,” Darius said.

“We should keep it,” Hoey said.

Sloan and friends also voted to keep and divvy the Army’s payment, and almost everyone else, including Snow and Nutter, fell in line. Even Henry voted with the mercenary majority, a surprise to me because he had his secret atonement agenda to fulfill and I thought he’d go for the sacrifice. Then I heard his reason.

“If we return our fee to the Army,” he said, “they may use it to purchase weaponry and ordnance.”

“So?” said Sudikoff.

“I abhor the making and distribution of implements that in any wise maim or kill,” Henry said.

That kind of talk didn’t go during the war. It really didn’t go in the South. Hitler wanted a hiding, and the Japs deserved any swift-kick comeuppance American determination and know-how could give them. The parlor lapsed into a silence broken only by mumbles.

“If that’s how folks’ll read us taking the Army’s money,” Charlie Snow finally said, “I vote to give it back.”

“Jumbo’s a crank on that point,” Muscles said. “Nobody’ll read it that way.”

“The greater shame,” Henry said.

In the end, of course, we voted to keep and divvy. Only Lamar Knowles and Dunnagin voted to return the honorarium to the government. Me, I went with the majority, but even today I can’t tell you if my reasons were more like Curriden’s or Henry’s. Of all the Hellbenders there, only Mister JayMac and Darius had failed to vote on the two issues before us. Anyway, the meeting started to break up.

“Hold it!” Mister JayMac jammed his hands in the pockets of his seersucker coat, stretching it out of true. “I should tell yall, the nature of this exhibition contest offers me some managerial latitude I don’t have in the CVL.”

What the hell did that mean?

“I plan to start Darius on the mound.”

That news goosed the gee-whilikers out of us. Should we hurrah or squawk? Trapdoor Evans said, “Jesus, sir, he could queer the whole game a-purpose jes to take Turkey and my and these other saps’ money.”

“It’s more than that,” Muscles said. “If we win, and if Darius finishes the game for us, them colored recruits-not to mention them Splendiferous Whozits-will say it was because one of their own was throwing for us.”

“That’s precisely the point,” Mister JayMac said.

“Why?” Muscles said. “Why?”

Mister JayMac looked over at Darius and winked: an open wink, like an open letter. Darius glanced off, the hinges in his jaw bulging.

“And if we lose,” Muscles said, “it’ll all come down to us not backing our pitcher-in their eyes, I mean. In their eyes, we’ll either ride Darius’s arm to a win or jap him with sloppy backup and weak-sister hitting.”

“And if we lose,” Evans said, “Darius picks our pockets.”

“I don’t want to pitch this one,” Darius said. “Give me some respect, Mister JayMac. Gimme some respect.”