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the old ape. Showed him a little footwork there. He didn’t look like he was goin to do nothin much so I reached out and busted him one. He just kindly looked at me. Well, I didn’t do nothin but square off and hit him again. Popped him right in the side of the head. When I done that his old head jerked back and his eyes went kindly funny and I said: Well, well, how sweet it is. I’d done spent the fifty dollars. I ducked around and went to hit himagain and about that time he jumped right on top of my head and crammed his foot in my mouth and like to tore my jaw off. I couldn’t even holler for help. I thought they never would get that thing off of me.

B ALLARD AMONG THE FAIR- goers stepping gingerly through the mud. Down sawdust lanes among the pitchtents and lights and cones of cottoncandy and past painted stalls with tiers of prizes and dolls and animals dangling from guyropes. A ferriswheel stood against the sky like a gaudy bracelet and little hawkwinged goatsuckers shuttled among the upflung strobes of light with gape mouths and weird cries.
    Where celluloid goldfish bobbed in a tank he leaned with his dipnet and watched the other fishers. An attendant took the fish from their nets and read the numbers on their undersides and shook his head no or reached down a small kewpie or a plaster cat. Whilehe was so occupied an old man next to Ballard was trying to steer two fish into his dipnet at the same time. They would not fit and the old man grown impatient steered them to the edge of the tank and with a sweep of the net splashed fish and water down the front of a woman standing next to him. The woman looked down. The fish were lying in the grass. You must be crazy, she said. Or drunk one. The old man gripped his net. The attendant leaned to them. What’s the matter here, he said.
    I didn’t do nothin, said the old man.
    Ballard was dipping up fish and dumping them back, studying the numbers on the prizes. The woman with the wet dress pointed at him. That man yonder is cheatin, she said.
    Okay buddy, said the attendant, reaching for his net. You get one for a dime, three for a quarter.
    I ain’t got one yet, said Ballard.
    You’ve done put back a dozen.
    I ain’t got one, said Ballard, holding his net.
    Well get one and look at the rest.
    Ballard shrugged up his shoulders and eyed the fish. He dipped one up.
    The attendant took the fish and looked at it. No winner, he said, and pitched the fish back in the tank and took the net from Ballard.
    I might not be done playin, said Ballard.
    And then again you might, said the attendant.
    Ballard gave the man a cold cat’s look and spat in the water and turned to go. The lady who’d been splashed was watching him with a half fearful look of vindication.As Ballard went past he spoke to her through his teeth. You a busynosed old whore, ain’t ye? he said.
    He stirred as he went the weight of dimes in the toe of his pocket. Riflefire guided him, a muted sound that he sorted from among the cries of barkers and pitchmen. A busy booth with longlegged boys crouched at the counter. Across the back of the gallery mechanical ducks tottered and creaked and the rifles cracked and spat.
    Step right up, step right up, test your skill and win a prize, sang the shooting gallery man. Yes sir, how about you?
    I’m studyin it, said Ballard. What do ye get?
    The pitchman pointed with his cane to rows of stuffed animals in ascending size. The bottom row, he said …
    Never mind them, said Ballard. What do you have to do to get them big’ns yonder.
    The pitchman pointed to small cards on a wire. Shoot out the small red dot, he said in a singsong voice. You have five shots in which to do it and you take your choice of any prize in the house.
    Ballard had his dimes out. How much is it? he said.
    Twenty-five cents.
    He laid three dimes on the counter. The pitchman stood a rifle up and slid a brass tube of shells into the magazine. It was a pump rifle and it was fastened to the counter by a