d with a bark. About most things except food he was inclined
to be gloomy and pessimistic, and this evening the gloom within was even
thicker than usual, because Johnson Boller's wife had left him.

She was a new wife and his first--a beautiful and spirited wife, all of
fifteen years younger than Johnson Boller. She was in love with him and
he with her, tremendously--and now she was gone. After only six months
of unalloyed happiness in the five-thousand-dollar apartment on
Riverside Drive, Mrs. Johnson Boller had left for her annual visit of
one month to the sister whose accursed husband owned great chunks of
Montreal, Quebec, and insisted on living on one of them.

One vast hour Johnson Boller had roamed the vacuum that had been their
ideal home; then he had packed his grip and gone to stay with Anthony
Fry, in that utter ultimate of everything impeccable and expensive in
the way of bachelor apartments, the Hotel Lasande--and even the sight of
the fight tickets, when Anthony's invaluable Wilkins had returned with
them, had failed to bring more than a flitting smile to Johnson Boller.

Now they were watching the second preliminary bout, and could he but
have traded one thousand of these bouts for a single hour with his
beloved Beatrice, Johnson Boller would have gladly.

"In the main," said Anthony Fry, "that absurd little chap up there
typifies my whole conception of opportunity."

"Huh?" Johnson Boller said.

"The chance for that fatal uppercut is there--it was there a minute ago
and it will be there a minute hence, and probably two minutes hence. Our
Tornado hasn't seen it yet; he may go to the end of the ten rounds and
never see it, and yet, unless this Horrigan chap changes his tactics, it
will be repeated again and again. Would he see it if the bout ran twenty
rounds?"

"How the dickens should I know?" Johnson Boller muttered.

"I'd be quite willing to wager," Anthony smiled thoughtfully, "that he
_would_ see it!"

Johnson Boller surveyed his friend narrowly. It was obvious that
Anthony's attention had strayed from the alleged battle--and small
wonder! It was equally obvious that Anthony's mind was wandering off
into the abstract; and not infrequently these little journeys--provided
they went not too far--were quite entertaining.

Johnson Boller, therefore, with an impulse he was to regret bitterly in
the very near future, gave a prod to discussion by smiling in his own
unhappy way and saying:

"What'