Bailey, meanwhile, as Kirk's hundred and eighty pounds of bone and
muscle detached themselves from the couch and loomed up massively
before him, was conscious of a weakening of his determination to
inflict bodily chastisement. The truth of Steve's remark, that it made
a difference whether one's intended victim is a heavyweight, a middle,
or a welter, came upon him with some force.
Kirk, in a sleeveless vest that showed up his chest and shoulders was
not an inviting spectacle for a man intending assault and battery.
Bailey decided to confine himself to words. There was nothing to be
gained by a vulgar brawl. A dignified man of the world avoided
violence.
"Mr. Winfield?"
"Mr. Bannister?"
It was at this point that Steve, having bathed and dressed, came out on
the gallery. The voices below halted him, and the sound of Bailey's
decided him to remain where he was. Steve was not above human
curiosity, and he was anxious to know the reason for Bailey's sudden
appearance.
"That is my name. It is familiar to you. My sister," said Bailey
bitterly, "has made it so."
"Won't you sit down?" said Kirk.
"No, thank you. I will not detain you long, Mr. Winfield."
"My dear fellow! There's no hurry. Will you have a cigarette?"
"No, thank you."
Kirk was puzzled by his visitor's manner. So, unseen in the shadows of
the gallery, was Steve.
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