"Maybe you didn't promise, but you marched off the field, and Aunt Caroline didn't. You went through all the motions of taking a beating. Bill, she hung the Indian sign on you right then. They never come back after the champ puts 'em away. I'll string a little bet on Aunt Caroline."

Bill growled again, seized the morning paper, essayed to read it, then flung it across the room.

"Never on the front page, Bill," said Pete. "They always print it opposite the editorial page."

"What?"

"The society news."

"Oh, go to blazes!" Bill's grouch was as virile as himself. "And see here, Pete. I'll beat this game yet. They can't put me into society without a secretary, can they? Well, you stand by and see how long any Willy-boy secretary holds a job with me. You keep time on it. The main part of his job will be his exit. And, believe me, he'll want to go."

Bill towered importantly in the center of the room.

"If he's my secretary he takes orders from me, doesn't he? And I have to have my daily exercise,[Pg 37] don't I? Well, his first job every day is to put on the gloves for half an hour. After that he can open the mail, if he's able."

[Pg 37]

Pete smiled a tribute of admiration.

"It's good as far as it goes, Bill. Yes, you can lick a secretary. There isn't any doubt he'll take the air as soon as he comes to. But then you've got nothing between you and the old champ. And, as I said before, I'm stringing with Aunt Caroline."

Pete strolled to the window and observed the drizzling morning. Also, he observed something else—something that caused him to turn about with a show of genuine enthusiasm.

"Bill," he whispered loudly, "she's in again."

"Who?"

"Little Gray Eyes."

"Who?"

"Man dear, the girl. The mysterious lady. The one that took a liking to me. The one——"

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