"That, I suppose Mr. Dingle, is what you call a blue eye?"
"It sure is, ma'am."
"What has been happening?"
"Well, it's this way. I see he's all worked up, sitting around doing
nothing except wait, so I makes him come and spar a round to take his
mind off it. My old dad, ma'am, when I was coming along, found that
dope fixed him all right, so I reckoned it would do as much good here.
My old dad went and beat the block off a fellow down our street, and it
done him a lot of good."
Mrs. Porter shook his gloved hand.
"Mr. Dingle," she said with enthusiasm, "I really believe that you are
the only sensible man I have ever met. Your common sense is
astonishing. I have no doubt you saved Mr. Winfield from a nervous
break-down. Would you be kind enough, when you are rested, to fetch
some water and bring him to and inform him that he is the father of a
son?"
Chapter IX
The White Hope is Turned Down
William Bannister Winfield was the most wonderful child. Of course,
you had to have a certain amount of intelligence to see this. To the
vapid and irreflective observer he was not much to look at in the early
stages of his career, having a dough-like face almost entirely devoid
of nose, a lack-lustre eye, and the general appearance of a poached
egg. His immediate circle of intimates, however, thought him a model of
manly beauty; and there was the undeniable fact that he had come into
the world weighing nine pounds.
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