Sally's emotions, as she sat in her apartment on the morning of herreturn to New York, resembled somewhat those of a swimmer who, afterwavering on a raw morning at the brink of a chill pool, nerves himselfto the plunge. She was aching, but she knew that she had done well. Ifshe wanted happiness, she must fight for it, and for all these monthsshe had been shirking the fight. She had done with wavering on thebrink, and here she was, in mid-stream, ready for whatever might befall.It hurt, this coming to grips. She had expected it to hurt. But it wasa pain that stimulated, not a dull melancholy that smothered. She feltalive and defiant.
She had finished unpacking and tidying up. The next move was certainlyto go and see Ginger. She had suddenly become aware that she wanted verybadly to see Ginger. His stolid friendliness would be a support and aprop. She wished now that she had sent him a cable, so that he couldhave met her at the dock. It had been rather terrible at the dock.The echoing customs sheds had sapped her valour and she felt alone andforlorn.
She looked at her watch, and was surprised to find how early it was. Shecould catch him at the office and make him take her out to lunch. Sheput on her hat and went out.
The restless hand of change, always active in New York, had not sparedthe outer office of the Fillmore Nicholas Theatrical Enterprises Ltd. inthe months of her absence. She was greeted on her arrival by an entirelynew and original stripling in the place of the one with whom at her lastvisit she had established such cordial relations. Like his predecessorhe was generously pimpled, but there the resemblance stopped. He was agrim boy, and his manner was stern and suspicious. He peered narrowly atSally for a moment as if he had caught her in the act of purloining theoffice blotting-paper, then, with no little acerbity, desired her tostate her business.
"I want Mr. Kemp," said Sally.
The office-boy scratched his cheek dourly with a ruler. No one wouldhave guessed, so austere was his aspect, that a moment before herentrance he had been trying to balance it on his chin, juggling thewhile with a pair of paper-weights. For, impervious as he seemedto human weaknesses, it was this lad's ambition one day to go intovaudeville.
"What name?" he said, coldly.
"Nicholas," said Sally. "I am Mr. Nicholas' sister."
On a previous occasion when she had made this announcement, disastrousresults had ensued; but to-day it went well. It seemed to hit theoffice-boy like a bullet. He started convulsively, opened his mouth, anddropped the ruler. In the interval of stooping and recovering it he wasable to pull himself together. He had not been curious about Sally'sname. What he had wished was to have the name of the person for whom shewas asking repeated. He now perceived that he had had a bit of luck.A wearying period of disappointment in the matter of keeping thepaper-weights circulating while balancing the ruler, had left himpeevish, and it had been his intention to work off his ill-humour onthe young visitor. The discovery that it was the boss's sister who wastaking up his time, suggested the advisability of a radical change oftactics. He had stooped with a frown: he returned to the perpendicularwith a smile that was positively winning. It was like the sun suddenlybursting through a London fog.
"Will you take a seat, lady?" he said, with polished courtesy evenunbending so far as to reach out and dust one with the sleeve of hiscoat. He added that the morning was a fine one.
"Thank you," said Sally. "Will you tell him I'm here."
"Mr. Nicholas is out, miss," said the office-boy, with gentlemanlyregret. "He's back in New York, but he's gone out."
"I don't want Mr. Nicholas. I want Mr. Kemp."
"Mr. Kemp?"
"Yes, Mr. Kemp."
Sorrow at his inability to oblige shone from every hill-top on the boy'sface.
"Don't know of anyone of that name around here," he said,apologetically.
"But surely..." Sally broke off suddenly. A grim foreboding had come toher. "How long have you been here?" she asked.
"All day, ma'am," said the office-boy, with the manner of a Casablanca.
"I mean, how long have you been employed here?"
"Just over a month, miss."
"Hasn't Mr. Kemp been in the office all that time?"
"Name's new to me, lady. Does he look like anything? I meanter say,what's he look like?"
"He has very red hair."
"Never seen him in here," said the office-boy. The truth shone coldlyon Sally. She blamed herself for ever having gone away, and told herselfthat she might have known what would happen. Left to his own resources,the unhappy Ginger had once more made a hash of it. And this hash musthave been a more notable and outstanding hash than any of his previousefforts, for, surely, Fillmore would not lightly have dismissed one whohad come to him under her special protection.
"Where is Mr. Nicholas?" she asked. It seemed to her that Fillmore wasthe only possible source of information. "Did you say he was out?"
"Really out, miss," said the office-boy, with engaging candour. "He wentoff to White Plains in his automobile half-an-hour ago."
"White Plains? What for?"
The pimpled stripling had now given himself up wholeheartedly tosocial chit-chat. Usually he liked his time to himself and resented theintrusion of the outer world, for he who had chosen jugglery forhis walk in life must neglect no opportunity of practising: but sofavourable was the impression which Sally had made on his plastic mindthat he was delighted to converse with her as long as she wished.
"I guess what's happened is, he's gone up to take a look at BugsButler," he said.
"Whose butler?" said Sally mystified.
The office-boy smiled a tolerant smile. Though an admirer of the sex, hewas aware that women were seldom hep to the really important things inlife. He did not blame them. That was the way they were constructed, andone simply had to accept it.
"Bugs Butler is training up at White Plains, miss."
"Who is Bugs Butler?"
Something of his former bleakness of aspect returned to the office-boy.Sally's question had opened up a subject on which he felt deeply.
"Ah!" he replied, losing his air of respectful deference as heapproached the topic. "Who is he! That's what they're all saying, allthe wise guys. Who has Bugs Butler ever licked?"
"I don't know," said Sally, for he had fixed her with a penetrating gazeand seemed to be pausing for a reply.
"Nor nobody else," said the stripling vehemently. "A lot of stiffs outon the coast, that's all. Ginks nobody has ever heard of, except CycloneMullins, and it took that false alarm fifteen rounds to get a referee'sdecision over him. The boss would go and give him a chance against thechamp, but I could have told him that the legitimate contender wasK-leg Binns. K-leg put Cyclone Mullins out in the fifth. Well," said theoffice-boy in the overwrought tone of one chafing at human folly, "ifanybody thinks Bugs Butler can last six rounds with Lew Lucas, I've twobucks right here in my vest pocket that says it ain't so."
Sally began to see daylight.
"Oh, Bugs--Mr. Butler is one of the boxers in this fight that my brotheris interested in?"
"That's right. He's going up against the lightweight champ. Lew Lucas isthe lightweight champ. He's a bird!"
"Yes?" said Sally. This youth had a way of looking at her with his headcocked on one side as though he expected her to say something.
"Yes, sir!" said the stripling with emphasis. "Lew Lucas is a hotsketch. He used to live on the next street to me," he added as clinchingevidence of his hero's prowess. "I've seen his old mother as close asI am to you. Say, I seen her a hundred times. Is any stiff of a BugsButler going to lick a fellow like that?"
"It doesn't seem likely."
"You spoke it!" said the lad crisply, striking unsuccessfully at a flywhich had settled on the blotting-paper.
There was a pause. Sally started to rise.
"And there's another thing," said the office-boy, loath to close thesubject. "Can Bugs Butler make a hundred and thirty-five ringsidewithout being weak?"
"It sounds awfully difficult."
"They say he's clever." The
expert laughed satirically. "Well,what's that going to get him? The poor fish can't punch a hole in anut-sundae."
"You don't seem to like Mr. Butler."
"Oh, I've nothing against him," said the office-boy magnanimously. "I'monly saying he's no licence to be mixing it with Lew Lucas."
Sally got up. Absorbing as this chat on current form was, more importantmatters claimed her attention.
"How shall I find my brother when I get to White Plains?" she asked.
"Oh, anybody'll show you the way to the training-camp. If you hurry,there's a train you can make now."
"Thank you very much."
"You're welcome."
He opened the door for her with an old-world politeness which disuse hadrendered a little rusty: then, with an air of getting back to businessafter a pleasant but frivolous interlude, he took up the paper-weightsonce more and placed the ruler with nice care on his upturned chin.
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