"I'd tell you, if you were."
"Would you, honestly?"
She didn't answer that. She smiled, and said, "There are some fights at
Ocean Park, tonight."
We saw those, and later, some amateur fights. Strange spectacles they
were, men belaboring each other, but fascinating, too. The amateurs were
less talented, but more friendly, leaving the ring arm in arm, if both
were still conscious. The professionals displayed no such amicability.
Why? I asked Jean. What was the difference between the amateurs and the
professionals?
"Money," she said, and looked at me strangely. "Didn't you really know
that?"
I lied with a nod. "I wanted you to see it, and to word it for
yourself."
"Look," she said with controlled irritation, "if I want any curbstone
philosophy, I can read one of those corny columnists. I certainly don't
have to sit in a screaming mob watching a couple of morons pound each
other bloody to arrive at a stupid generality like that."
"Let's get a hamburger," I said.