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"Sir," said Joe, taking a set of gloves from a locker, "if you are ready to box a round or so " "Why, no," answered Ravenslee, "I don't want to box to-day, Joe." "Eh?" said Joe, staring, "not?" "I want to fight, Joe." "To fight, sir?" repeated Joe. "Fight?" cried the Old Un rapturously. "Oh, music sweet music t' me old ears! Fight? Oh, j'yful words! What's the old song say?
'All shall be explained. A little trite, perhaps! Oh, well " So saying, he folded up the telegrams, switched off the lights and went to bed. It was close on the hour of sunset when Ravenslee stopped his car before a quiet hotel in Englewood and sprang out. "Will you be long, sir?" enquired Joe, seating himself at the wheel and preparing to turn into the garage. "Probably an hour, Joe."
When he's in d' ring he can't be still a minute, can't let himself rest between rounds, see? He kinder beats himself, I guess." "I know what you mean," nodded Ravenslee, "and I'm sure you're right. By the way, have you ever seen M'Ginnis fight?" "I seen him scrap once or twice he's sure ugly in a rough-house, but in th' ring well, I dunno!" "Has he a punch?"
"What th' hell " he began, but Ravenslee cut him short. "You left this behind you," said he, thrusting forward the neckerchief, "so I've brought it to twist around that foul throat of yours. Now, M'Ginnis fight!" Thrusting the neckerchief into his pocket, Ravenslee clenched his fists, and, saying no more, they closed and fought not as men, but rather as brute beasts eager to maim and rend.
The morning sun blazed down, and Tenth Avenue was full of noise and dust and heat; children screamed and played and fought together, carts rumbled past, distant street cars clanged their bells, the sidewalks were full of the stir and bustle of Saturday; but Ravenslee went his way heedless of all this, even of the heat, for before his eyes was the vision of a maid's shy loveliness, and he thrilled anew at the memory of two warm lips.
There's a Sheeny store on Ninth Avenue where you can get dandy shirts for fifty cents a throw." "Sounds fairly reasonable!" nodded Mr. Ravenslee as they turned up Thirty-ninth Street. "Then you want a new lid, Geoff!" Mr. Ravenslee took off the battered hat and looked at it. "What's the matter with this?" he enquired. "Nothin', Geoff, only it wants burnin'," sighed Spike.
A moment's silent sparring, a quick tread of feet, and Joe feints Ravenslee into an opening, swings for his chin, misses by an inch, and ducking a vicious counter, drives home a smashing body-blow and, staggering weakly, Ravenslee goes down full length. "Shook ye up a bit, sir?" enquired Joe, running up with hands outstretched, "take a rest, now do, sir."
Mr. Brimberly stared at the preoccupation of his master's scowling brow and grim-set mouth, and, clutching a soft handful of whisker, murmured: "Certingly, sir!" "When I was a boy," continued Ravenslee absently, "I used to dream of the wonderful things I would do when I was a man by the way, you're quite sure I'm not boring you ?" "No, sir certingly not, sir indeed, sir!"
But upon the opposite corner was a saloon, with a large annex and many outbuildings behind, backing upon the river, and Ravenslee, lounging on the handles of his barrow, examined this unlovely building with keen eye from beneath his hat brim, for above the swing doors appeared the words: O'ROURKE'S SALOON
"Aw I couldn't be, to a thing like you! An' see here me name's M'Ginnis!" "But then," sighed Ravenslee, "I prefer to call you Flowers a fair name for a foul thing " M'Ginnis made a swift step forward and halted, hard-breathing and menacing. "How much?" he demanded. "Fair name for a very foul thing, Mr.
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