blown in and whether the Gerry Society would stand for his hitting it.
I could see him thinking 'This is too easy' as plain as if he'd said
it. And then he took another peek at me, as much as to say, 'Well,
let's get it over. Where shall I soak him first?' And while he's doing
this I get in range and I put my left pretty smart into his lunch-wagon
and I pick up my right off the carpet and hand it to him, and down he
goes. And when he gets up again it's pretty nearly to-morrow morning and
I've drawn the winner's end and gone home.'
'And the moral?'
'Why, don't spar. Punch! Don't wait for the wallop. Give it.'
'You mean?'
'Why, when old man Bannister says: 'Nix! You shall never marry my
child!' come back at him by saying: 'Thanks very much, but I've just
done it!''
'Good heavens, Steve!'
'You'll never win out else. You don't know old man Bannister. I do.'
'But......'
The door-bell rang.
'Who on earth's that?' said Kirk. 'It can't be Bailey back again.'
'Good morning, Pennicut,' spoke the clear voice of Mrs. Lora Delane
Porter. 'I wish to see Mr. Winfield.'
'Yes, ma'am. He's upstairs in 'is bath!'
'I will wait in the studio.'
'Good Lord!' cried Kirk, bounding from his seat on the rail. 'For
Heaven's sake, Steve, go and talk to her while I dress. I'll be down in
a minute.'
'Sure. What's her name?'
'Mrs. Porter. You'll like her. Tell her all about yourself, where you
were born, how much you are round the chest, what's your favourite
breakfast food. That's what she likes to chat about. And tell her I'll
be down in a second.'
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.
