They were in the Cellar after the Knights had left, both of them sitting on the bench with Squirts, and Augie had brought the flyer down and laid it on the scorer's table between them like a hand of cards.
"Two-man teams," Augie said. "Three games each, with handicap. Wally's carrying about a hundred and eight. That's terrible. That's wonderful. That's sixty-some pins a game." He looked at Russ. "Your last sanctioned average was a hundred and forty-one. Bantam division. You were ten."
"So?"
"So it's still on the books. YABA don't forget. Two years, you're still eligible on that average." Augie took a drink. "He needs a partner. You're the only other kid I know who's spent four months in a pit watching good bowlers. Plus, frankly, nobody else'd have him. He throws shoes."
Wally almost laughed and then didn't, because Russ hadn't moved.
"I don't bowl anymore," Russ said.
"Why not?"
"I just don't."
"You know what I think?" Augie said. "I think you're scared."
Russ stood up so fast the bench scraped. "I'm not scared of nothing."
"Okay," said Augie mildly. "Then you'll do it."
Russ stood there with his fists balled up and his face working. Then he walked out. He went up the steep stairs two at a time and the door at the top banged, and they heard his feet going across the tavern floor over their heads, and then nothing.
Augie sighed and finished his Squirt.
"Well," he said. "That's a no."