The narrator laments the loss of his friend, Henry, who has just been scouted by the Chicago White Sox. He wishes that he were sad, and that he had not been so selfish in his pursuit of the young man. Henry, however, does not seem to understand the narrator's distress. The two men part, and the narrator wonders if Henry is really the one who has been scouted. He wonders if the boy might be an "impulsively dumbass," or if he might be the editor of the Chicago Tribune. The narrator wonders whether the boy has seen the look on Henry's face that he has not seen before.