"Damn it, Dingle," he gasped. "Kindly give me warning before you do
that sort of thing."
Steve was delighted. It amused his simple, honest soul to catch Bailey
napping, and the incident gave him a text on which to hang a lecture.
And, next to fighting, he loved best the sound of his own voice.
"Warning? Nix!" he said. "Ain't it just what I been telling you every
day for weeks? You gotta be ready _always_. You seen me holding
the pellet. You should oughter have been saying to yourself: 'I gotta
keep an eye on that gink, so's he don't soak me one with that thing
when I ain't looking.' Then you would have caught it and whizzed it
back at me, and maybe, if I hadn't been ready for it, you might have
knocked the breeze out of me."
"I should have derived no pleasure-----"
"Why, say, suppose a plug-ugly sasshays up to you on the street to take
a crack at your pearl stick-pin, do you reckon he's going to drop you a
postal card first? You gotta be _ready_ for him. See what I mean?"
"Let us spar," said Bailey austerely. He had begun to despair of ever
making Steve show him that deference and respect which he considered
due to the son of the house. The more frigid he was, the more genial
and friendly did Steve become. The thing seemed hopeless.
It was a pleasing sight to see Bailey spar. He brought to the task the
measured dignity which characterized all his actions.
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