Bailey objected to being addressed as 'bo,' and he was annoyed that
Steve should have guessed the truth respecting his overnight movements.
Still more was he annoyed that Steve's material mind should attribute
to a surfeit of lobster a pallor that was superinduced by a tortured
soul.
'I did...ah...take supper last night, it is true,' he said. 'But if I am
a little pale to-day, that is not the cause. Things have occurred to
annoy me intensely.'
'You should worry!' advised Steve. 'Catch!'
The heavy medicine-ball struck Bailey in the chest before he could
bring up his hands and sent him staggering back.
'Damn it, Dingle,' he gasped. 'Kindly give me warning before you do
that sort of thing.'
Steve was delighted. It amused his simple, honest soul to catch Bailey
napping, and the incident gave him a text on which to hang a lecture.
And, next to fighting, he loved best the sound of his own voice.
'Warning? Nix!' he said. 'Ain't it just what I been telling you every
day for weeks? You gotta be ready always. You seen me holding
the pellet. You should oughter have been saying to yourself: 'I gotta
keep an eye on that gink, so's he don't soak me one with that thing
when I ain't looking.' Then you would have caught it and whizzed it
back at me, and maybe, if I hadn't been ready for it, you might have
knocked the breeze out of me.'
'I should have derived no pleasure......-'
'Why, say, suppose a plug-ugly sasshays up to you on the street to take
a crack at your pearl stick-pin, do you reckon he's going to drop you a
postal card first? You gotta be ready for him. See what I mean?'
'Let us spar,' said Bailey austerely. He had begun to despair of ever
making Steve show him that deference and respect which he considered
due to the son of the house. The more frigid he was, the more genial
and friendly did Steve become. The thing seemed hopeless.
It was a pleasing sight to see Bailey spar. He brought to the task the
measured dignity which characterized all his actions. 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.'
