Still no answer.
"Say, I want to—to apologise. You're right about the Seventy-second Street gang. I'm sorry."
"All right," said the Gutter Pup, not quite appeased. "I'm glad you apologised."
"But we fight to-morrow—to the end—to the limit!"
"You're on!"
They spoke no more that night, undressing in silence, each covertly swelling his muscles and glancing with stolen looks at his opponent's knotted torso. By morning the Gutter Pup's serenity had returned.
"Well, how're you feeling? How did you sleep?" he asked, poking his nose over the coverlets.
"Like a log," returned Lovely, lying gloriously.
"Good. Better take a nap in the afternoon, though, if you're not used to midnight scrapping."
"Thanks."