“I could make it plenty tough for you,” Frowein hinted defensively. “Suppose it should get out that Deems held you up on the Gezzy-Brady fight! But I’m not that sort of fellow. We’ll strike a bargain. You keep your lip buttoned and so will I.”
Flash had no intention of carrying the matter further.
“All right,” he agreed, helping Frowein to his feet. “We’ll call the whole thing a draw.”
The Globe photographer grinned ruefully as he rubbed his chin.
“You pack a wicked wallop,” he said grudgingly.
The cage door opened and the elevator man peered out at the pair.
“What’s going on here?”
“Nothing,” muttered Frowein, rescuing his hat from the stairway. “I slipped and fell, that’s all. They ought to keep these vestibules lighted.”
Flash had turned toward the door. He could not resist one parting shot.
“Well, so long, Frowein,” he tossed cheerfully. “From now on, no more ‘hello, hero,’ stuff. I’m just plain Evans to you.”