The poet, having received forty pounds from his publishers, was thoroughly disposed towards a frivolous evening. He was consequently a little dismayed when, as they sat at dinner that same evening, Aaron Rodd, who had been a little distrait, suggested an alteration in their evening's entertainment.
"I wonder," he said, "if, instead of going to the 'Empire,' you would care to see a bout between Canary Joe and a youthful barman who I understand possesses genius?"
The poet made a wry face.
"I am rather fed up with biffing just now," he confessed, "but Canary Joe—why, that's old man Potts' protégé."
Aaron nodded.
"The affair is to take place in a room at the back of his public-house," he observed.
Cresswell sipped his wine and considered. His attitude was obviously unfavourable.
"I am in the humour," he declared, "for a more enervating atmosphere, the warmth and comfort of the Empire lounge, the charm of feminine society—even from a distance," he added hastily. "I am feeling human to-night, Aaron Rodd—very human."
"It is possible," his companion continued slowly, "that an adventure——"
The poet's manner changed.