"Not so," I declared truthfully. How truthfully Your Excellency well knows.
"There's something peculiar about you," he said, "something very peculiar." He leaned back in his chair and his glance swept over me. "Suppose you cut out the leopard skin," he said, "and wear a jersey and trousers."
I laughed to myself. He thought my bare body, my bulging muscles had been the cause of the trouble. What a fool! Is Your Excellency laughing too? However, I dared not disagree with him. By that time he had had many drinks. He was looking mean. He reached over and grabbed the lapel of my coat in his fist.
"What the hell kind of a guy are you?" he snarled at me.
My hands twitched. I wished I could have picked him up and tied him in a four-in-hand knot around his own neck.
"Who the hell are you?" he repeated.
I yawned and stretched and got to my feet. "Not even a strong man now," I said casually, "just a tired man."
I left the bar.
After that incident I was careful with the male principle. When the audience left each night I turned it on very slightly—only enough to be sure that the women would do their best to get back to see me again.