When I passed Jerry's door on my way out of the building, I thought I would like to hear a friendly voice, so I called:
"Good-night, Jerry."
He came to the door in his white sweater and white trousers.
"Good-night, Mr. Ray. Where are you off to now?"
"Well, to tell the truth, I'm off to be walloped."
Jerry was too courteous to seek particulars.
"Oh, bad luck," he said. "Come to the baths this time to-morrow, and it'll be all over."
"Oh, I don't mind, it, Jerry," I replied. "Good-night"; and, letting the door swing behind me, I passed out of the baths.
"Good old Jerry," I murmured sentimentally. "By Jove, if I could only swim like him! Dear—old—Jerry."
An unaccountable melancholy overcame me, as I rambled in this strain. I sighed: "I think I'm getting too old to be whacked."