“Charlie?”
“Yes, you know. Your boy friend. He resented me taking you out to dinner.”
“Oh,” she said, lowering her eyes. A smile twitched at the corners of her lips. “Was he jealous?”
“Very.”
“Did you hit him first?”
I said, “He struck the first blow.”
“Who got in the last blow?” she asked.
“The first was it,” I said. “That old proverb to the effect that ‘that which is first shall be last’ is intended to apply to fist fights.”
“I’ll have to speak to Charlie,” she said. “He didn’t hurt his hand, did he?”
“He might have shortened the arm a couple of inches by driving his knuckles back to the wrist bone, but aside from that he’s all right. How about my information?”