"
Steve, reaching the studio, found Mrs. Porter examining the
boxing-gloves which had been thrown on a chair.
"Eight-ounce, ma'am," he said genially, by way of introduction.
"Kirk'll be lining up in a moment. He's getting into his rags."
Mrs. Porter looked at him with the gimlet stare which made her so
intensely disliked by practically every man she knew.
"Are you a friend of Mr. Winfield?" she said.
"Sure. We just been spieling together up above. He sent me down to tell
you he won't be long."
Mrs. Porter concluded her inspection.
"What is your name?"
"Dingle, ma'am."
"You are extraordinarily well developed. You have unusually long arms
for a man of your height."
"Yep. I got a pretty good reach."
"Are you an artist?"
"A which?"
"An artist. A painter."
Steve smiled broadly.
"I've been called a good many things, but no one's ever handed me that.
No, ma'am, I'm a has-been."
"I beg your pardon."
"Granted."
"What did you say you were?" asked Mrs. Porter after a pause.
"A has-been. I used to be a middle, but mother kicked, and I quit. All
through taking a blue eye home! Wouldn't that jar you?"
"I have no doubt you intend to be explicit----"
"Not on your life!" protested Steve. "I may be a rough-neck, but I've
got me manners. I wouldn't get explicit with a lady.
Pages:
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83