in this Orde dropped into the habit of joining him. When the young
men first stripped in each other's presence, they eyed each other with
a secret surprise. Gerald's slender and elegant body turned out to be
smoothly and gracefully muscled on the long lines of the Flying Mercury.
His bones were small, but his flesh was hard, and his skin healthy with
the flow of blood beneath. Orde, on the other hand, had earned from the
river the torso of an ancient athlete. The round, full arch of his chest
was topped by a mass of clean-cut muscle; across his back, beneath
the smooth skin, the muscles rippled and ridged and dimpled with every
movement; the beautiful curve of the deltoids, from the point of the
shoulder to the arm, met the other beautiful curve of the unflexed
biceps and that fulness of the back arm so often lacking in a one-sided
development; the surface of the abdomen showed the peculiar corrugation
of the very strong man; the round, columnar neck arose massive.

"By Jove!" said Gerald, roused at last from his habitual apathy.

"What's the matter?" asked Orde, looking up from tying the rubber-soled
shoes that Gerald had lent him.

"Murphy," called Gerald, "come here."

A very hairy, thick-set, bullet-headed man, the type of
semi-professional "handlers," emerged from somewhere across the
gymnasium.

"Do you think you could down this fellow?" asked Gerald.

Murphy looked Orde over critically.

"Who ye ringin' in on me?" he inquired.

"This is a friend of mine," said Gerald severely.

"Beg your pardon. The gentleman is well put up. How much experience has
he had?"

"Ever box much?" Gerald asked Orde.

"Box?" Orde laughed. "Never had time for that sort of thing. Had the
gloves on a few times."

"Where did you get your training, sir?" asked the handler.

"My training?" repeated Orde, puzzled. "Oh, I see! I was always pretty
heavy, and I suppose the work on the river keeps a man in pretty good
shape."

Gerald's languor had vanished, and a glint had appeared in his eye that
would have reminded Orde of Miss Bishop's most mischievous mood could he
have seen it.

"Put on the gloves with Murphy," he suggested, "will you? I'd like to
see you two at it."

"Surely," agreed Orde good-naturedly. "I'm not much good at it, but I'd
just as soon try." He was evidently not in the least afraid to meet the
handler, though as evidently without much confidence in his own skill.

"All right; I'll be with you in a second