It was the energetic Mr. Burrowes who broke the spell.
"Come on, come on," he said impatiently. "Li'l speed there, Reddy."
Ginger Kemp started like a sleep-walker awakened; then recoveringhimself, slowly began to pull on the gloves. Embarrassment was stampedon his agreeable features. His face matched his hair.
Sally plucked at the little manager's elbow. He turned irritably, butbeamed in a distrait sort of manner when he perceived the source of theinterruption.
"Who--him?" he said in answer to Sally's whispered question. "He's justone of Bugs' sparring-partners."
"But..."
Mr. Burrowes, fussy now that the time had come for action, interruptedher.
"You'll excuse me, miss, but I have to hold the watch. We mustn't wasteany time."
Sally drew back. She felt like an infidel who intrudes upon thecelebration of strange rites. This was Man's hour, and women must keepin the background. She had the sensation of being very small and yetvery much in the way, like a puppy who has wandered into a church. Thenovelty and solemnity of the scene awed her.
She looked at Ginger, who with averted gaze was fiddling with hisclothes in the opposite corner of the ring. He was as removed fromcommunication as if he had been in another world. She continued tostare, wide-eyed, and Ginger, shuffling his feet self-consciously,plucked at his gloves.
Mr. Butler, meanwhile, having doffed his bath-robe, stretched himself,and with leisurely nonchalance put on a second pair of gloves, wasfilling in the time with a little shadow boxing. He moved rhythmicallyto and fro, now ducking his head, now striking out with his muffledhands, and a sickening realization of the man's animal power swept overSally and turned her cold. Swathed in his bath-robe, Bugs Butler hadconveyed an atmosphere of dangerousness: in the boxing-tights whichshowed up every rippling muscle, he was horrible and sinister, a machinebuilt for destruction, a human panther.
So he appeared to Sally, but a stout and bulbous eyed man standing ather side was not equally impressed. Obviously one of the Wise Guysof whom her friend the sporting office-boy had spoken, he was franklydissatisfied with the exhibition.
"Shadow-boxing," he observed in a cavilling spirit to his companion."Yes, he can do that all right, just like I can fox-trot if I ain't gota partner to get in the way. But one good wallop, and then watch him."
His friend, also plainly a guy of established wisdom, assented with acurt nod.
"Ah!" he agreed.
"Lew Lucas," said the first wise guy, "is just as shifty, and he canpunch."
"Ah!" said the second wise guy.
"Just because he beats up a few poor mutts of sparring-partners," saidthe first wise guy disparagingly, "he thinks he's someone."
"Ah!" said the second wise guy.
As far as Sally could interpret these remarks, the full meaning of whichwas shrouded from her, they seemed to be reassuring. For a comfortingmoment she ceased to regard Ginger as a martyr waiting to be devoured bya lion. Mr. Butler, she gathered, was not so formidable as he appeared.But her relief was not to be long-lived.
"Of course he'll eat this red-headed gink," went on the first wise guy."That's the thing he does best, killing his sparring-partners. But LewLucas..."
Sally was not interested in Lew Lucas. That numbing fear had come backto her. Even these cognoscenti, little as they esteemed Mr. Butler, hadplainly no doubts as to what he would do to Ginger. She tried to tearherself away, but something stronger than her own will kept her therestanding where she was, holding on to the rope and staring forlornlyinto the ring.
"Ready, Bugs?" asked Mr. Burrowes.
The coming champion nodded carelessly.
"Go to it," said Mr. Burrowes.
Ginger ceased to pluck at his gloves and advanced into the ring.
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