There was an interval of silence. “I’m not a bad little liar,” thought Douglas. “I wonder if she’s finished.” He yawned strenuously and stretched his arms. “My! I’m sleepy,” he said.
Janet rose slowly and moved toward the door. “Are you going to ask him out some time?” she inquired.
“Sure thing!”
At the door she turned. “Will you let me know when he is coming?”
“Yes, dear.”
“Good-night, Doug.”
“Good-night, Sis.”
Douglas stood for a while staring into nothingness. “I don’t blame her,” he said aloud. “I don’t know anything about him, but I’ll bet he is a real man.”
CHAPTER IV
The arena and the grand-stand were packed, the S.R.O. sign having been hung out at two o’clock. The cosmopolitan crowd sat in solid ranks, tier upon tier, from the select ringside seats to the topmost rail. Judges, lawyers, doctors and bankers sat with labourers, miners, loggers, bartenders, and bootblacks. Men of the underworld sat side by side with men that make and administer our laws. There was a sprinkling of Japs, Chinamen and negroes. The turbanned Hindu made bright splotches of colour here and there in the vast sea of faces. Of class distinction there was none; all welded as one in the love of the boxing game.