Properties
- end_line
- 1317
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T03:41:20.744Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 1298
- text
- the wrong kind of skates--I wanted racing skates and she bought hockey--but it made me
sad anyway. Almost every time somebody gives me a present, it ends up making me sad.
After I got all packed, I sort of counted my dough. I don't remember exactly how
much I had, but I was pretty loaded. My grandmother'd just sent me a wad about a week
before. I have this grandmother that's quite lavish with her dough. She doesn't have all
her marbles any more--she's old as hell--and she keeps sending me money for my
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birthday about four times a year. Anyway, even though I was pretty loaded, I figured I
could always use a few extra bucks. You never know. So what I did was, I went down the
hail and woke up Frederick Woodruff, this guy I'd lent my typewriter to. I asked him how
much he'd give me for it. He was a pretty wealthy guy. He said he didn't know. He said
he didn't much want to buy it. Finally he bought it, though. It cost about ninety bucks,
and all he bought it for was twenty. He was sore because I'd woke him up.
When I was all set to go, when I had my bags and all, I stood for a while next to
the stairs and took a last look down the goddam corridor. I was sort of crying. I don't
know why. I put my red hunting hat on, and turned the peak around to the back, the way I
liked it, and then I yelled at the top of my goddam voice, "Sleep tight, ya morons!" I'll bet
I woke up every bastard on the whole floor. Then I got the hell out. Some stupid guy had
thrown peanut shells all over the stairs, and I damn near broke my crazy neck.
- title
- Chunk 4