By this time the arena was swimming in Morris' nauseated vision, while, as for the drummer on Frank's right, he closed his eyes and wiped a clammy perspiration from his forehead. The club meeting proceeded, however, despite the stomachs of its weaker members, and the next bout commenced with a rush. It was advertised in advance by Morris'
neighboring seatholders as a scientific contest, but in pugilism, as in surgery, science is often gory. In this instance a scientific white man hit a colored savant squarely on the nose, with the inevitable sanguinary result, and as though by a prearranged signal Morris and the drummer on Walsh's right started for the door. In vain did Walsh seize his neighbor by the coat-tail. The latter shook himself loose, and he and Morris reached the sidewalk together.
"T'phooie!" said the drummer. "That's an amusement for five dollars."
Morris wiped his face and gasped like a landed fish. At length he recovered his composure. "I seen you sitting next to Walsh," he said.
The drummer nodded. "He didn't want me to go," he replied. "He said we come together and we should go together, but I told him I would wait for him till it was over. Him and that other fellow seem to enjoy it."
"Some people has got funny idees of a good time," Morris commented.
"That's an idee for a loafer," said the drummer. "For my part I like it more refined."
"I believe you," Morris replied. "Might you would come and take a cup of coffee with me, maybe?"
He indicated a bathbrick dairy restaurant on the opposite side of the street.
"Much obliged," the drummer replied, "but I got to go out of town to-morrow, and coffee keeps me