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Page 7
"Cut that!"
"P.S., I mean," George amended hastily. "Why didn't you ever tell me
you was Jeffries's sparrin' partner?"
"I'm not and never was, and furthermore I didn't hit you," replied P.
Sybarite. "All I did was to let you fall over my foot and bump your
head on the floor. You're a clumsy brute, you know, George, and if you
tried it another time you _might_ dent that dome of yours. Better
accept my offer and be friends."
"Never call you Per--"
"Don't say it!"
"Oh, all right--all right," George agreed plaintively. "And if I
promise, I'm in on that theatre party?"
"That's my offer."
"It's hard," George sighed regretfully--"damn' hard. But whatever
_you_ say goes. I'll keep your secret."
"Good!" P. Sybarite extended one of his small, delicately modelled
hands. "Shake," said he, smiling wistfully.
II
INSPIRATION
When they had locked in the Genius of the Place to batten upon itself
until seven o'clock Monday morning, P. Sybarite and Mr. Bross, with at
least every outward semblance of complete amity, threaded the roaring
congestion in narrow-chested Frankfort Street, boldly breasted the
flood tide of homing Brooklynites, won their way through City Hall
Park, and were presently swinging shoulder to shoulder up the sunny
side of lower Broadway.
To be precise, the swinging stride was practised only by Mr. Bross; P.
Sybarite, instinctively aware that any such mode of locomotion would
ill become one of his inches, contented himself with keeping up--his
gait an apparently effortless, tireless, and comfortable amble,
congruent with bowed shoulders, bended head, introspective eyes, and
his aspect in general of patient preoccupation.
From time to time George, who was maintaining an unnatural and painful
silence, his mental processes stagnant with wonder and dull
resentment, eyed his companion askance, with furtive suspicion. Their
association was now one of some seven years' standing; and it seemed a
grievous thing that, after posing so long as the patient butt of his
rude humour, P.S. should have so suddenly turned and proved himself
the better man--and that not mentally alone.
"Lis'n--" George interjected of a sudden.
P. Sybarite started. "Eh?" he enquired blankly.
"I wanna know where you picked up all that classy footwork."
"Oh," returned P.S., depreciatory, "I used to spar a bit with the
fellows when I was a--ah--when I was younger."
"When you was at _what_?" insisted Bross, declining to be fobbed off
with any such flimsy evasion.
"When I was at liberty to."
"Huh! You mean, when you was at college."
"Please yourself," said P. Sybarite wearily.
"Well, you was at college oncet, wasn't you?"
"I was," P.S. admitted with reluctance; "but I never graduated. When I
was twenty-one I had to quit to go to work for Whigham & Wimper."
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