Vronde, Miss Vincent, the Kid and another dame
come rollin' up in Miss Vincent's twelve-cylinder garage-mechanic's
friend. De Vronde hops out and walks over to us, wavin' his cane and
frownin'.

"Look here!" he bawls at Adams. "I thought I told you to be at the
east gate with my duster and goggles? You've kept me waiting half an
hour, while you're gossiping around! Really, if you're going to start
this way, I shall have to get another man. Look sharp now, no excuses!"

The Kid winks at me, noddin' to Adams who's lookin' at De Vronde with a
very peculiar gaze. I couldn't quite get what he's registerin'. Miss
Vincent looks interested and sits up. The other dame opens the door of
the car and stands on the runnin' board.

"Here's where the fair Edmund gets his and gets it good!" hisses Duke
in my ear, lookin' at Adams.

"I'm very sorry," says Adams, suddenly. "I should have remembered."

And without another word or look, he exits.

"Yellah!" snorts the Kid.

"No spine!" sneers Miss Vincent.

"Nick-looking boy--who is he?" asks the other dame, lookin' after him.

Duke slaps his hands together all of a sudden and gazes at her like a
guy gettin' his first flash at his hour-old son. Then he looks after
Adams, grins and claps his hands again.

"Who is he?" repeats the dame.

De Vronde sneers.

"Really," he says, "your interest is surprising. That fellow is my--"

"Shut up!" roars Duke, springin' to the runnin'-board. "Here!" he goes
on, talkin' fast. "I'm gonna shoot them two interiors in half a hour,
so you better call this joy ride off!" He turns to the strange dame
and speaks very polite, "Miss Vincent will show you everything; if you
want anything, just 'phone the office."

When they're gone, Duke turns to me and grins.

"I often heard you say you made Scanlan welterweight champ," he says,
"by _pickin'_ the guys he was to fight till he got where he could lick
'em _all_. Well, I'm gonna do the same thing for our friend Mister
Jack Adams, valet for Edmund De Vronde, the salesladies' joy. I'm
goin' in that boy's corner from this day on, and, when I get through,
he'll be a champ!"

"What?" I says. "Train a guy like that for the ring? Why--"

"I see you don't make me," he interrupts, "which is just as well,
because you'd be liable to ball the whole thing up, if you did. This
kid Adams has got symptoms of bein' a he-man in his face. He's hit the
bumps good and hard and right now he's down,