NINE
NEAR THE COLORADO-NEBRASKA BORDERIt didn’t take Chester too long to discover that Ted Garrett’s bark was worse than his bite. The youngster was gradually getting used to Garrett’s varying moods and his favorite four-letter word starting with the letter S. Beyond his bronze exterior, Garrett was a man oozing with baseball, a walking, talking wealth of information.
“Did you say Josh Gibson was your teammate?” Chester asked, fascinated, while sitting with Garrett on the bus.
“s**t, yeah, boy. Down Puerto Rico.” Garrett cleaned a set of wire-rimmed glasses with a handkerchief, then put them on.
“What’s he like?”
“A nice feller.” Garrett chomped on some tobacco, handing Chester the pack. “Chew?”
“No, thank you.”
“Yuh, sure? It’s good fer the rheumatism.”
“I shouldn’t have to worry
