A left jab from
him had all the majesty of a formal declaration of war. If he was a
trifle slow in his movements for a pastime which demands a certain
agility from its devotees he at least got plenty of exercise and did
himself a great deal of good.
He was perspiring freely as he took off the gloves. A shower-bath,
followed by brisk massage at the energetic hands of Steve, made him
feel better than he had imagined he could feel after that night of
spiritual storm and stress. He was glowing as he put on his clothes,
and a certain high resolve which had come to him in the night watches
now returned with doubled force.
"Dingle," he said, "how did I seem to-day?"
"Fine," answered Steve courteously. "You're gettin' to be a regular
terror."
"You think I shape well?"
"Sure."
"I am glad. This morning I am going to thrash a man within an inch of
his life."
"What!"
Steve spun round. Bailey's face was set and determined.
"You are?" said Steve feebly.
"I am."
"What's he been doing to you?"
"I am afraid I cannot tell you that. But he richly deserves what he
will get."
Steve eyed him with affectionate interest.
"Well, ain't you the wildcat!" he said. "Who'd have thought it? I'd
always had you sized up as a kind o' placid guy."
"I can be roused."
"Gee, can't I see it! But, say, what sort of a gook is this gink,
anyway?"
"In what respect?"
"Well, I mean is he a heavy or a middle or a welter or what? It makes a
kind o' difference, you know.
Pages:
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68