The Adventures of Sally by P. G. Wodehouse (little bear else holmelund minarik .TXT) 📖

who had betted heavily on the champion, were delighted. Yet Bugs Butler did not rejoice. It is not too much to say that his peevish bearing struck a jarring note in the general gaiety. A heavy frown disfigured his face as he slouched from the ring.

But the happiness which he had spread went on spreading. The two Wise Guys, who had been unable to attend the fight in person, received the result on the ticker and exuberantly proclaimed themselves the richer by five hundred dollars. The pimpled office-boy at the Fillmore Nicholas Theatrical Enterprises Ltd. caused remark in the Subway by whooping gleefully when he read the news in his morning paper, for he, too, had been rendered wealthier by the brittleness of Mr. Butler's chin. And it was with fierce satisfaction that Sally, breakfasting in her little apartment, informed herself through the sporting page of the details of the contender's downfall. She was not a girl who disliked many people, but she had acquired a lively distaste for Bugs Butler.

Lew Lucas seemed a man after her own heart. If he had been a personal friend of Ginger's he could not, considering the brief time at his disposal, have avenged him with more thoroughness. In round one he had done all sorts of diverting things to Mr. Butler's left eye: in round two he had continued the good work on that gentleman's body; and in round three he had knocked him out. Could anyone have done more? Sally thought not, and she drank Lew Lucas's health in a cup of coffee and hoped his old mother was proud of him.

The telephone bell rang at her elbow. She unhooked the receiver.

“Hullo?”

“Oh, hullo,” said a voice.

“Ginger!” cried Sally delightedly.

“I say, I'm awfully glad you're back. I only got your letter this morning. Found it at the boarding-house. I happened to look in there and...”

“Ginger,” interrupted Sally, “your voice is music, but I want to see you. Where are you?”

“I'm at a chemist's shop across the street. I was wondering if...”

“Come here at once!”

“I say, may I? I was just going to ask.”

“You miserable creature, why haven't you been round to see me before?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, I haven't been going about much for the last day. You see...”

“I know. Of course.” Quick sympathy came into Sally's voice. She gave a sidelong glance of approval and gratitude at the large picture of Lew Lucas which beamed up at her from the morning paper. “You poor thing! How are you?”

“Oh, all right, thanks.”

“Well, hurry.”

There was a slight pause at the other end of the wire.

“I say.”

“Well?”

“I'm not much to look at, you know.”

“You never were. Stop talking and hurry over.”

“I mean to say...”

Sally hung up the receiver firmly. She waited eagerly for some minutes, and then footsteps came along the passage. They stopped at her door and the bell rang. Sally ran to the door, flung it open, and recoiled in consternation.

“Oh, Ginger!”

He had stated the facts accurately when he had said that he was not much to look at. He gazed at her devotedly out of an unblemished right eye, but the other was hidden altogether by a puffy swelling of dull purple. A great bruise marred his left cheek-bone, and he spoke with some difficulty through swollen lips.

“It's all right, you know,” he assured her.

“It isn't. It's awful! Oh, you poor darling!” She clenched her teeth viciously. “I wish he had killed him!”

“Eh?”

“I wish Lew Lucas or whatever his name is had murdered him. Brute!”

“Oh, I don't know, you know.” Ginger's sense of fairness compelled him to defend his late employer against these harsh sentiments. “He isn't a bad sort of chap, really. Bugs Butler, I mean.”

“Do you seriously mean to stand there and tell me you don't loathe the creature?”

“Oh, he's all right. See his point of view and all that. Can't blame him, if you come to think of it, for getting the wind up a bit in the circs. Bit thick, I mean to say, a sparring-partner going at him like that. Naturally he didn't think it much of a wheeze. It was my fault right along. Oughtn't to have done it, of course, but somehow, when he started making an ass of me and I knew you were looking on... well, it seemed a good idea to have a dash at doing something on my own. No right to, of course. A sparring-partner isn't supposed...”

“Sit down,” said Sally.

Ginger sat down.

“Ginger,” said Sally, “you're too good to live.”

“Oh, I say!”

“I believe if someone sandbagged you and stole your watch and chain you'd say there were faults on both sides or something. I'm just a cat, and I say I wish your beast of a Bugs Butler had perished miserably. I'd have gone and danced on his grave... But whatever made you go in for that sort of thing?”

“Well, it seemed the only job that was going at the moment. I've always done a goodish bit of boxing and I was very fit and so on, and it looked to me rather an opening. Gave me something to get along with. You get paid quite fairly decently, you know, and it's rather a jolly life...”

“Jolly? Being hammered about like that?”

“Oh, you don't notice it much. I've always enjoyed scrapping rather. And, you see, when your brother gave me the push...”

Sally uttered an exclamation.

“What an extraordinary thing it is—I went all the way out to White Plains that afternoon to find Fillmore and tackle him about that and I didn't say a word about it. And I haven't seen or been able to get hold of him since.”

“No? Busy sort of cove, your brother.”

“Why did Fillmore let you go?”

“Let me go? Oh, you mean... well, there was a sort of mix-up. A kind of misunderstanding.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, it was nothing. Just a...”

“What happened?”

Ginger's disfigured countenance betrayed embarrassment. He looked awkwardly about the room.