immediately. Almost she hoped that he was a prizefighter. There
was a delicious tickle of wickedness about it. Prizefighters were
such terrible and mysterious men. In so far as they were out of
the ordinary and were not mere common workingmen such as
carpenters and laundrymen, they represented romance. Power also
they represented. They did not work for bosses, but spectacularly
and magnificently, with their own might, grappled with the great
world and wrung splendid living from its reluctant hands. Some of
them even owned automobiles and traveled with a retinue of
trainers and servants. Perhaps it had been only Billy's modesty
that made him say he had quit fighting. And yet, there were the
callouses on his hands. That showed he had quit.



CHAPTER VI

They said good-bye at the gate. Billy betrayed awkwardness that
was sweet to Saxon. He was not one of the take-it-for-granted
young men. There was a pause, while she feigned desire to go into
the house, yet waited in secret eagerness for the words she
wanted him to say.

"When am I goin' to see you again?" he asked, holding her hand in
his.

She laughed consentingly.

"I live 'way up in East Oakland," he explained. "You know there's
where the stable is, an' most of our teaming is done in that