"You feel all right, eh? Good! Good! You see, I was just
a-wonderin'--you know, ha! ha!--goin' to get married and the rest--thought
you might be unstrung, eh, a trifle?--nerves just a bit off, you know.
Know how gettin' married is myself. But you're all right, eh? Of course
you are. No use asking _you_ that. Ha! ha! Well, good luck, my boy! I
know you'll win. Never had the least doubt, of course, of course."

"And good-by, Miss Pritchard," he said to Genevieve, gallantly handing
her into the elevator. "Hope you call often. Will be charmed--charmed--I
assure you."

"Everybody calls you 'Joe'," she said reproachfully, as the car dropped
downward. "Why don't they call you 'Mr. Fleming'? That's no more than
proper."

But he was staring moodily at the elevator boy and did not seem to hear.

"What's the matter, Joe?" she asked, with a tenderness the power of which
to thrill him she knew full well.

"Oh, nothing," he said. "I was only thinking--and wishing."

"Wishing?--what?" Her voice was seduction itself, and her eyes would
have melted stronger than he, though they failed in calling his up to
them.

Then, deliberately, his eyes lifted to hers. "I was wishing you could
see me fight just once."