“Come to the gymnasium at the corner of Robson and Granville at two o’clock to-morrow,” advised Andy as they stepped outside.
“I’ll be there, and I want to thank you for your kindness.”
“Forget it,” smiled Andy. “I’ve been flat many a time myself.”
“Half-an-hour ago I was broke and hungry,” mused Donald, “and now I am well fed and have three dollars in my pocket. Great old world this.” He chuckled happily as he swung down sun-splashed Cordova Street with a buoyant stride.
The next day, dressed in light clothing and a pair of running-shoes, Donald went around Stanley Park. Wishing to condition himself, he ran the greater part of the way.
Spring comes early in Vancouver as compared with the East. In January the buds are bursting in Stanley Park. The balmy sea air, scented with earthy odours from the deep woods, seemed to Donald to possess magic properties. The blood sang in his veins. Overhead, big white seagulls screamed and soared; squirrels retreated in chattering fright as he raced down the road, and over all was the sound of the booming surf. The wind rushed past his ears, and he shouted aloud from sheer exuberance of spirits and the joy of living.
Donald covered the distance from English Bay to Granville Street at a jogging trot. The air of the gymnasium seemed close after being in the open. The big Australian fighter was in the ring with one of his sparring partners. The slap of gloves was like music to Donald’s ears.
“Just in time,” welcomed Andy as he led him to the dressing-room, where he quickly shifted to fighting togs and then walked over to the ring.
A crowd of boxing-fans sat by the ringside watching the big fellow work out. Donald’s entrance caused a stir. His lithe, muscular body was the attraction of all eyes.
“ ’Op in,” commanded Andy.