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I could not understand her desire to make him give up cock-breeding. If she considered cock-breeding morally wrong, she could have consoled herself with the idea that Ed was doing the breeding, not her. A man like Ed Middleton could never give up his love of the game. Perhaps she was going through her menopause and, as a consequence, was losing her mind.
    â€œLet’s go get us some breakfast, Frank,” Ed said, as he locked the feed shack door. Ed started down the path toward the lake, and I lingered for a last look at Icarus. He pecked away at his grain hungrily. I could see the fine breeding of the cock in his stance and proud bearing. The cock had shape, health, and an inborn stamina. Through proper conditioning I could teach him responsiveness, alertness, improve his speed, and sharpen his natural reflexes. Other than that, there wasn’t much else I could do for the cock. His desire to fight was inherited. And the only way his gameness could be tested truly was in the pit.
    I turned away from the walk and ran down the path to catch up with Ed.
    When we entered the kitchen, Martha greeted us cheerfully and began to prepare our breakfast. Ed and I sat down across from each other at the breakfast nook and I inhaled the delicious fragrance of the frying bacon. It was quite a breakfast: crisp bacon, fried eggs, hot biscuits, grits and melted butter, orange juice, and plenty of orange-blossom honey to coil onto the fluffy biscuits.
    As I sat back with a full stomach to drink my after-breakfast coffee, Ed told his wife that I was going to buy his remaining chickens.
    â€œThat’s wonderful, Ed,” Martha said happily. She smiled at me and bobbed her chin several times. “You know Ed wouldn’t sell those old birds to just anybody, Frank. But Ed has always had a lot of respect for you, and I know you’ll take good care of them.”
    I nodded, finished my coffee, and slid out of the booth.
    â€œFrank isn’t taking the cocks today, Martha,” Ed said, getting up from the table. “He’ll be back for them later on.”
    â€œOh, I didn’t know that! I thought he was taking them now.”
    â€œThese deals aren’t made in an instant, sweetheart,” Ed said sharply. “But we’ve shaken hands on the deal, and Frank’ll be back, all in good time.” He forced a smile and turned to me. “Come on, Frank. I’ll drive you into Orlando.”
    â€œWhere’re you going, Frank?” Martha asked.
    I shrugged indifferently and returned her smile. This was the kind of question that could only be answered by writing it down, and I didn’t feel that it required an answer. Where I was going or what I was going to do couldn’t possibly have any real interest for the old lady.
    â€œFrank can’t answer questions like that without writing them down,” Ed reminded his wife. “But you know we’ll be reading about him in the trade magazines.”
    â€œWell, I’ll pack a lunch for you anyway. Wait out on the patio. Take some more coffee out there with you. It’ll only take a minute and you can surely wait that long.”
    While she fixed a lunch for me, I repacked my suitcase and took it out to the car. Ed unlocked the door, and I removed the coop and handed it to him before I tossed the suitcase on the floorboards.
    â€œSure, leave the coop with me if you like,” he said, leaning it against the concrete wall.
    When I returned for Icky, I could use the coop to carry him, and I didn’t feel like lugging it along to Jacksonville, not hitchhiking, anyway.
    A few minutes later Martha joined us on the patio and handed me a heavy paper bag containing my lunch.
    â€œI used the biscuits left from breakfast,” she said, “and made a few ham sandwiches. There is a fat slice of tomato on each one and plenty of mayonnaise. There wasn’t any pie left, but I put a couple of apples for dessert.”
    Rather than