Bailey objected to being addressed as "bo," and he was annoyed that
Steve should have guessed the truth respecting his overnight movements.
Still more was he annoyed that Steve's material mind should attribute
to a surfeit of lobster a pallor that was superinduced by a tortured
soul.

"I did--ah--take supper last night, it is true," he said. "But if I am
a little pale to-day, that is not the cause. Things have occurred to
annoy me intensely."

"You should worry!" advised Steve. "Catch!"

The heavy medicine-ball struck Bailey in the chest before he could
bring up his hands and sent him staggering back.

"Damn it, Dingle," he gasped. "Kindly give me warning before you do
that sort of thing."

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."