Manet had been interested in the Fabulous Forties—Lt. "Hoot" Gibson, Sam Merwin tennis stories, Saturday Evening Post covers—when he had first learned of them, and he had learned all about them. He had firm opinions on all these.
He yearned for someone to challenge him—to say that Dime Sports had been nothing but a cheap yellow rag and, why, Sewanee Review, there had been a magazine for you.
Manet's only consolidation was that Ronald's tastes were lower than his own. He patriotically insisted that the American Sabre Jet was superior to the Mig. He maintained with a straight face that Tommy Dorsey was a better band man than Benny Goodman. Ronald was a terrific jerk.
"Ronald," Manet said, "you are a terrific jerk."
Ronald leaped up immediately and led with his right.
Manet blocked it deftly and threw a right cross.
Ronald blocked it deftly, and drove in a right to the navel.
The two men separated and, puffing like steam locomotives passing the diesel works, closed again.
Ronald leaped forward and led with his right.
Manet stepped inside the swing and lifted an uppercut to the ledge of Ronald's jaw.