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Updated: May 29, 2025
"For he's a jolly good fellow. For he's " There was a sound of quick footsteps outside, and Mamie entered the room like a small whirlwind. "Be quiet!" she cried. "Do you want to wake him?" "Wake him?" said Steve. "You can't wake that kid with dynamite." He raised his glass. "Ladeez'n gentlemen, the boy wonder! Here's to him! The bantam-weight champeen of Connecticut.
Steve detected a flaw in this and hastened to make his point. "Sure," he said, "but he don't win the bantam-weight champeenship of Connecticut every night." "Is that what he's done to-day, Steve?" asked Kirk. "It certainly is. Ain't I telling you?" "That's the trouble. You're not. You and Mamie seem to be having a discussion about the nourishing properties of sardines and lobster.
Imagine, if you please, a professional heavy-weight prize-fighter, with an abnormally long reach, holding an amateur bantam-weight boxer at arm's length with one hand and hitting him when and where he pleased with the other.
The solid cleverness of Joe Bevan, and the quickness and cunning of the bantam-weight, were as much in evidence as before, but somehow the glamour and romance which had surrounded them were gone. He no longer watched eagerly to pick up the slightest hint from these experts. He felt no more interest than he would have felt in watching a game of lawn tennis. He had been keen.
But this sudden onslaught upon Mamie, innocent Mamie who had done nothing to anybody, scattered his embarrassment and filled him with much the same spirit which sent bantam-weight knights up against heavy-weight dragons in the Middle Ages. He felt inspired. "Nix on the 'abandoned creature," he said with dignity. "You're on the wrong wire! This here lady is my affianced wife!"
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