The office-boy smiled a tolerant smile. Though an admirer of the sex, he was aware that women were seldom hep to the really important things in life. He did not blame them. That was the way they were constructed, and one simply had to accept it.
“Bugs Butler is training up at White Plains, miss.”
“Who is Bugs Butler?”
Something of his former bleakness of aspect returned to the office-boy. Sally's question had opened up a subject on which he felt deeply.
“Ah!” he replied, losing his air of respectful deference as he approached the topic. “Who is he! That's what they're all saying, all the wise guys. Who has Bugs Butler ever licked?”
“I don't know,” said Sally, for he had fixed her with a penetrating gaze and seemed to be pausing for a reply.
“Nor nobody else,” said the stripling vehemently. “A lot of stiffs out on the coast, that's all. Ginks nobody has ever heard of, except Cyclone Mullins, and it took that false alarm fifteen rounds to get a referee's decision over him. The boss would go and give him a chance against the champ, but I could have told him that the legitimate contender was K-leg Binns. K-leg put Cyclone Mullins out in the fifth. Well,” said the office-boy in the overwrought tone of one chafing at human folly, “if anybody thinks Bugs Butler can last six rounds with Lew Lucas, I've two bucks right here in my vest pocket that says it ain't so.”
Sally began to see daylight.
“Oh, Bugs—Mr. Butler is one of the boxers in this fight that my brother is interested in?”
“That's right. He's going up against the lightweight champ. Lew Lucas is the lightweight champ. He's a bird!”