"In what respect?"

"Well, I mean is he a heavy or a middle or a welter or what? It makes a
kind o' difference, you know."

"I cannot say. I have not seen him."

"What! Not seen him? Then how's there this fuss between you?"

"That is a matter into which I cannot go."

"Well, what's his name, then? Maybe I know him. I know a few good
people in this burg."

"I have no objection to telling you that. He is an artist, and his name
is--his name is----"

Wrinkles appeared in Bailey's forehead. His eyes bulged anxiously
behind their glasses.

"I've forgotten," he said blankly.

"For the love of Mike! Know where he lives?"

"I am afraid not."

Steve patted him kindly on the shoulder.

"Take my advice, bo," he said. "Let the poor fellow off this time."