Part 9 (1/2)
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 sa.s.shays 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 ma.s.sage 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.”
”What!”
Steve spun round. Bailey's face was set and determined.
”You are?” said Steve feebly.
”I am.”
”What's he been doing to you?”
”I am afraid I cannot tell you that. But he richly deserves what he will get.”
Steve eyed him with affectionate interest.
”Well, ain't you the wildcat!” he said. ”Who'd have thought it? I'd always had you sized up as a kind o' placid guy.”
”I can be roused.”
”Gee, can't I see it! But, say, what sort of a gook is this gink, anyway?”
”In what respect?”
”Well, I mean is he a heavy or a middle or a welter or what? It makes a kind o' difference, you know.”