her thought it was lovely, though, and sister had that gushy look in
her eyes that her kind wears after they've been to see Maude Adams.
Lady Evelyn, though, didn't seem to be struck silly by our performance.
She acted as though someone had been tryin' to sell her a gold brick.
Her nose was up in the air, and she'd turned a shoulder to us, like she
was wonderin' how long it would be before the next act was put on.
Couldn't blame her, either. That was the weakest imitation of a sparrin'
bout I ever stood up in.

But there was no stirrin' Jarvis. He'd got stage-fright, or cold feet,
or something of the kind. It wa'n't that he didn't know how, for he had
all the tags of a good amateur about his moves; but somehow he'd been
queered. So, as soon as we can, we quits. Then sister gets her chance to
gush. She rushes to the front and turns the baby stare on me like I was
all the goods.

"Oh, it was just too sweet for anything!" says she. "Do you know,
professor, I've always wanted to see a real boxing-match; but Jarvis
would never let me before. He's told me horrid stories about how brutal
they were. Now I know they're nothing of the sort. I shall come every
time you and Jarvis have one, and so will Lady Evelyn. You didn't think
it was brutal, did you, Evelyn?"

Lady Evelyn humped her eyebrows and gave me one look. "No," says she, "I
shouldn't call it brutal, exactly," and then she swallows a polite,
society snicker in a way that made me mad from the ground up. Jarvis
didn't lose any of that, either. I got a glimpse of him turnin'
automobile red, and tryin' to choke himself with his tongue.

"It's something like the wand drill we used to do at college," says
sister. "Don't you like the wand drill, professor?"

"When it ain't done too rough, I'm dead stuck on it," says I.

"I just knew you didn't like rough games," says she. "You don't look as
though you would, you know."

"That's right," say I.

"Jarvis says that once you knocked out three men in one evening; but I'm
sure you weren't rude about it," she gurgles.

"And that's no pipe, either," says I. "I wouldn't be rude for money."

"What is a knockout, anyway?" says she.

"Why," says I, "it's just pushin' a feller around the platform until
he's too dizzy to stand up."

"What fun!" says sister.

We makes a break for the dressin'-room about then, and the delegation
clears out. On the way back to the station Jarvis apologizes seven
different ways, and ends up by gi