His arms, which were unusually long and thick, hung down nearly to his
knees and were decorated throughout with knobs and ridges of muscle
that popped up and down and in and out as he moved, in a manner both
fascinating and frightening. His face increased the illusion of
squareness, for he had thick, straight eyebrows, a straight mouth, and
a chin of almost the minimum degree of roundness. He inspected Bailey
with a pair of brilliant brown eyes which no detail of his appearance
could escape. And Bailey, that morning, as has been said, was not
looking his best.
"You're lookin' kind o' sick, bo," was Steve's comment. "I guess you
was hittin' it up with the gang last night in one of them lobster
parlours."
Bailey objected to being addressed as "bo," and he was annoyed that
Steve should have guessed the truth respecting his overnight movements.
Still more was he annoyed that Steve's material mind should attribute
to a surfeit of lobster a pallor that was superinduced by a tortured
soul.
"I did--ah--take supper last night, it is true," he said. "But if I am
a little pale to-day, that is not the cause. Things have occurred to
annoy me intensely."
"You should worry!" advised Steve. "Catch!"
The heavy medicine-ball struck Bailey in the chest before he could
bring up his hands and sent him staggering back.
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