To Bruce’s amazement Harrah took his hand and shook it joyfully.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you could! You look as hard as nails. Do you box or wrestle?”
Bruce wondered if he was crazy.
He answered shortly: “Some.”
“Bully!” excitedly. “The best luck ever! We’ll have a try-out in private and if you’re the moose I think you are you can break him in two!”
“Break who in two?”
“The Spanish Bull-dog! Eureka!” he chuckled gleefully. “I’ll back you to the limit!”
“What’s the matter with you?” Bruce demanded. “Are you loco?”
“Close to it!” the eccentric capitalist cried gaily,—“with joy! He bested me proper the other night at the Athletic Club—he dusted the mat with me—and I want to play even.” Seeing that Bruce’s face did not lose its look of mystification he curbed his exuberance: “You see I’ve got some little reputation as a wrestler so when Billy Harper ran across this fellow in Central America he imported him on purpose to reduce the swelling in my head, he said, and he did it, for while the chap hasn’t much science he’s so powerful I couldn’t hold him. But you, by George! wait till I spring you on him!”
“Say,” Bruce answered resentfully, “I came East to raise money for a hydro-electric power plant, not to go into the ring. It looks as if you’re taking a good deal for granted.”