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Tom says he's never seen Wall Street, where all the tycoons grind their money machines.

The place is practically deserted now, being late Saturday afternoon, and it's like walking through an empty cathedral.

You can make echoes.

We take the subway, and Tom walks along home with me.

It seems too bad the day's over.

It was a pretty good day, after all.

"So long, kid," Tom says.

"I'll send you a card from Beautiful Brooklyn!"

"So long." I wave, and he starts off.

I wish he didn't have to go live in Brooklyn.

You can't really stay sore at a guy you've known all your life, especially if he lives right around the corner and goes to the same school.

Anyhow, one hot Saturday morning Nick turns up at my house as if nothing had ever happened and says do I want to go swimming, because the Twenty-third Street pool's open weekends now.

After that we go back to playing ball on the street in the evenings and swimming sometimes on weekends.

One Saturday his mother tells me he went to Coney Island.

He didn't ask me to go along, which is just as well, because I wouldn't have.

I don't hang around his house after school much anymore, either.

School lets out, and there's the Fourth of July weekend, when we go up to Connecticut, and pretty soon after that Nick goes off to a camp his church runs.

Pop asks me if I want to go to a camp a few weeks, but I don't.

Life is pretty slow at home, but I don't feel like all that organization.

I think Tom must have forgotten about me and found a gang his own age when I get a postcard from him:

"Dear Dave, The guy I work for is a creep, and all the guys who buy gas from him are creeps, so it's great to be alive in Beautiful Brooklyn! Wish you were here, but you're lucky you're not. Best, Tom."

It's hard to figure what he means when he says a thing.

However, I got nothing to do, so I might as well go see.

Ch6. And Brooklyn

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