"You can search me!" answered Spike, shaking his head, "but it's a sure
thing she ain't got no use for Bud."

"And yet--you go around with him, Spike."

"But don't I tell ye he's been good t' me! He's goin' t' match me with
some top-liners; he says if I can stick it I'll be a champion sure."

"Yes," nodded Mr. Ravenslee, "but when?"

"Oh, Bud's got it all doped out. But say--"

"And in the meantime your sister will go on feeding you and clothing you
and--"

"Cheese it, Geoff," cried the boy, flushing. "You make a guy feel like a
two-spot in the discard! I told you I'd try to get a steady job, an' so
I will--but I ain't goin' to quit the fightin' game for nobody! 'N'
say--I'm sleepy. How about it? You can have my bed, or the couch here,
or you can get in Hermy's--"

"Thanks, the couch will do, Spike."

"Then I guess it's me for the feathers!" said Spike, rising and
stretching, "so long, Geoff!"

And in a while, having finished his pipe and knocked out the ashes, Mr.
Ravenslee stretched his long limbs upon the chintz-covered sofa, and,
_mirabile dictu_, immediately fell asleep.