Chapter 43
BING WAS ONCE again the center of attention at Tuesday’s tailgate. Spirits were high after another morning of excellent sport. Marie was back in Brookside but arrangements were in the works for her visits to extend far beyond the weekends alone. Absent her turf-protecting presence, a flock of ladies clustered tightly around Bing. He passed out sheets of paper to each one and then herded them into a group facing him. To his delight, several men wandered over and wedged into the back row.
“Excellent,” Bing said. “I’m afraid I don’t have enough song sheets for everyone, so some of you will have to share. All right then, here we go.” He gave a downbeat and launched into the song. The lyrical phrasing and jaunty tune could have been penned by Gilbert and Sullivan:
A southerly wind
