But why this intense antagonism? Why should they not speak? Sprudell had not told her of a quarrel.
“Who are those men!” he asked in an undertone, and she noticed that he was breathing hard in an excitement he could not conceal.
As she named them in turn she saw that Bruce Burt was regarding her with the puzzled, questioning look one gives to the person he is trying to place.
The one stipulation which Bruce had made when he consented to meet the “Spanish Bull-dog” was that his name should not be known in the event of the match being mentioned in the papers; so Harrah had complied by introducing him to his friends by any humorous appellation which occurred to him. It proved a wise precaution, since directly Bruce’s challenge had been sent and it was known that he was Harrah’s protegé, the papers had made much of it, publishing unflattering snapshots after he had steadily refused to let them take his picture.
It was true enough, as Helen had said, he had whipped the “Spanish Bull-dog,” loosened his tenacious grip in a feat of strength so sensational that the next morning he had found himself featured along with an elopement and a bank failure.
They called him “The Man from the Bitter Boots,” and a staff artist depicted him as a hairy aborigine that Winfield Harrah had had captured to turn loose on the Spanish gladiator. Which humor Bruce did not relish, for Sprudell’s taunt that “muscle” was his only asset still rankled.
The betting odds had been against him in the Athletic Club, for Bruce’s size ofttimes made him look clumsy, but if Bruce had a bear’s great strength he had also a bear’s surprising quickness and agility. And it was the combination which had won the victory for him. Unexpectedly, with one of the awkward but swift movements which was characteristically bear-like, Bruce had swooped when he saw his opening and thrown the “Bull-dog” as he had thrown “Slim”—over his shoulder. Then he had whirled and pinned him—both shoulders and a hip touching squarely. There had been no room for dispute over the decision. Friends and foes alike had cheered in frenzy, but beyond the fact that the financial help which Harrah promised was contingent upon his success, Bruce felt no elation. The whole thing was a humiliation to him.
But Harrah had been as good as his word. They had filed in to Bruce’s top floor room one evening—Harrah’s friends headed by Harrah. They had seemed to regard it as a lark, roosting on his bed and window-sill and table, while Bruce dropped naturally to a seat on his heel, camp-fire fashion, with his back against the wall, and to their amusement outlined his proposition and drew a map of the location of his ground on the carpet with his finger.
But they had not taken much interest in detail, they were going into it chiefly to please Harrah. Bruce saw that clearly and it piqued him. He felt as though his proposition, his sincerity, counted for nothing, but while it nettled him more than ever, it put him on his mettle.