“I’m sorry it happened that way, Janet,” he said apologetically. “It was thoughtless of me to get caught in that mob, so that you were compelled to suffer the humiliation of witnessing such a brutal spectacle.”
“You were not to blame,” she returned, in a low, queer voice. “I begged you to wait. I’m glad I did.”
“You’re what—glad?” he exclaimed, astonished. “It was not a thing for a girl like you to see and hear.”
“Still,” she declared, “I am glad I saw it. I know now that any man with an atom of manhood in his make-up may sometimes be compelled to fight.”
“That’s right,” he agreed, “and he can’t always pick a gentleman, or a man of his own class, for an antagonist.”
She looked at him quickly. “Do you think Tom Locke is a gentleman?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that; it’s doubtful, considering the company he’s with.”
“Do gentlemen never play baseball?”
“Certainly—in college games.”