Ruffy's accent was always a shock to Bruce. You never expected to hear
pure Americanese come rumbling out of that huge black frame. But three
years previously Ruffy had returned from a scholarship tour of the
United States with a command of the idiom, a diploma in land husbandry,
a prodigious thirst for bottled beer (preferably Schlitz, but any other
was acceptable) and a raving dose of the Old Joe.
The memory of this last, which had been a farewell gift from a high
yellow sophomore of U. C.L. A returned most painfully to Ruffararo when
he was in his cups; so painfully that it could be assuaged only by
throwing the nearest citizen of the United States.
Fortunately, it was only on rare occasions that an American and the
necessary five or six gallons of beer were assembled in the same
vicinity so that Ruffy's latent race antipathy could find expression.
A throwing by Ruffy was an unforgettable experience, both for the victim
and the spectators. Bruce vividly recalled that night at the
Hotel Lido when he had been a witness at one of Ruffy's most spectacular
throwings.
The victims, three of them, were journalists representing
publications of repute. As the evening wore on they talked louder; an
American accent has a carry like a well-hit golf ball and Ruffy
recognized it from across the terrace. He became silent, and in his
silence drank the last gallon which was necessary to tip the balance.
He wiped the froth from his upper lip and stood up with his eyes
fastened on the party of Americans.
'Ruffy, hold it. Hey!' - Bruce might not have spoken.
Ruffy started across the terrace. They saw him coming and fell
into an uneasy silence.
The first was in the nature of a practice throw; besides, the man was
not aero-dynamically constructed and his stomach had too much wind
resistance. A middling distance of twenty feet.
'Ruffy, leave them!' shouted Bruce.
On the next throw Ruffy was getting warmed up, but he put excessive loft
into it. Thirty feet; the journalist cleared the terrace and landed on
the lawn below with his empty glass still clutched in his hand.
'Run, you fool!' Bruce warned the third victim, but he was paralysed.
And this was Ruffy's best ever, he took a good grip neck and seat of the
pants - and put his whole weight into it. Ruffy must have known that he
had executed the perfect throw, for his shout of
'Gonorrhoea!'
as he launched his man had a ring of triumph to it.
Afterwards, when Bruce had soothed the three Americans, and they had
recovered sufficiently to appreciate the fact that they were privileged
by being party to a record throwing session, they all paced out the
distances. The three journalists developed an almost proprietary
affection for Ruffy and spent the rest of the evening buying him beers
and boasting to every newcomer in the bar. One of them, he who had been
thrown last and farthest, wanted to do an article on Ruffy - with
pictures. Towards the end of the evening he was talking wildly of
whipping up sufficient enthusiasm to have a man-throwing event included
