'I will tell you,' Bailey's demeanour was portentous.
'He's frowning,' said Ruth. 'You have been stirring his hidden depths,
Aunt Lora!'
Bailey coughed.
'Ruth!'
'Bailey, don't! You don't know how terrible you look when you're
roused.'
'Ruth, kindly answer me one question. Aunt Lora informs me that you are
going to marry this man Winfield. Is it or is it not true?'
'Of course it's true.'
Bailey drew in his breath. He gazed coldly at Ruth, bowed to Mrs.
Porter, and smoothed the nap of his hat.
'Very good,' he said stonily. 'I shall now call upon this Mr. Winfield
and thrash him.' With that he walked out of the room.
He directed his cab to the nearest hotel, looked up Kirk's address in
the telephone-book, and ten minutes later was ringing the studio bell.
A look of relief came into George Pennicut's eyes as he opened the
door. To George, nowadays, every ring at the bell meant a possible
visit from Lora Delane Porter.
'Is Mr. Kirk Winfield at home?' inquired Bailey.
'Yes, sir. Who shall I say, sir?'
'Kindly tell Mr. Winfield that Mr. Bannister wishes to speak to him.'
'Yes, sir. Will you step this way, sir?'
Bailey stepped that way.
* * * * *
While Bailey was driving to the studio in his taxicab, Kirk, in boxing
trunks and a sleeveless vest, was engaged on his daily sparring
exercise with Steve Dingle.
This morning Steve seemed to be amused at something. As they rested, at
the conclusion of their fifth and final round, Kirk perceived that he
was chuckling, and asked the reason.
'Why, say,' explained Steve, 'I was only thinking that it takes all
kinds of ivory domes to make a nuttery. I ran across a new brand of
simp this morning. Just before I came to you I'm scheduled to show up
at one of these Astorbilt homes t'other side of the park. First I mix
it with the old man, then son and heir blows in and I attend to him.
'Well, this morning, son acts like he's all worked up. He's one of
these half-portion Willie-boys with Chippendale legs, but he throws out
a line of talk that would make you wonder if it's safe to let him run
around loose. Says his mind's made up; he's going to thrash a gink
within an inch of his life; going to muss up his features so bad he'll
have to have 'em replanted.
''Why?' I says. 'Never you mind,' says he. 'Well, who is he?' I asks.
What do you think happens then? He thinks hard for a spell, rolls his
eyes, and says: 'Search me. I've forgotten.' 'Know where he lives?' I
asks him. 'Nope,' he says.
'Can you beat it! Seems to me if I had a kink in my coco that big I'd
phone to an alienist and have myself measured for a strait-jacket. Gee!
You meet all kinds, going around the way I do.'
Kirk laughed and lit a cigarette.
