And for what?
Because, ostensibly, his oldest friend had tried to advise the boy he had snatched from a prize-fight. Johnson Boller shook his head. That opportunity business had been queer, but still it had been quite like Anthony in his eccentric moments—but this continuation of the queerness was bad! Before sixty, Anthony Fry would have settled down in some nice, comfortable sanitarium.
These things, however, were not the moment's chief concern. It behooved Johnson Boller to try the second section of his hasty little plan, if David were to be ousted from the flat. Hence, he allowed his benevolent, genial grin to return; he flashed it upon Anthony and then upon the boy.
"As you please," said he, "although I don't know how much good he'll get out of the kind of advice you're able to give him. However—that's your lookout. Going to turn him into a man, eh?"
"Yes," Anthony said thickly.
Johnson Boller yawned, by way of demonstrating unconcern.
"Well, kid, it's pretty soft for you, but since Mr. Fry's determined on the job I'll be around for the first month to offer whatever assistance may be within my power," said he. "Good meals—early hours—regular habits—all that sort of thing. And then, of course, a proper amount of athletic work to keep you fit."
"Yes," David agreed.
"Don't be so hellish surly about it," smiled Mr. Boller. "How are you, David—pretty athletic?"
"Athletic enough," David submitted.