"I should have derived no pleasure-----"

"Why, say, suppose a plug-ugly sasshays 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 massage 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."