His languor left him, as his gaze fell on Sally again, and his spirits revived somewhat. After all, small though the numbers of spectators might be, bright eyes would watch and admire him.
“I'll go a couple of rounds with Reddy for a starter,” he said. “Seen him anywheres? He's never around when he's wanted.”
“I'll fetch him,” said Mr. Burrowes. “He's back there somewheres.”
“I'm going to show that guy up this afternoon,” said Mr. Butler coldly. “He's been getting too fresh.”
The manager bustled off, and Bugs Butler, with a final smirk, left Sally and dived under the ropes. There was a stir of interest in the audience, though the newspaper men, blasé through familiarity, exhibited no emotion. Presently Mr. Burrowes reappeared, shepherding a young man whose face was hidden by the sweater which he was pulling over his head. He was a sturdily built young man. The sweater, moving from his body, revealed a good pair of shoulders.
A last tug, and the sweater was off. Red hair flashed into view, tousled and disordered: and, as she saw it, Sally uttered an involuntary gasp of astonishment which caused many eyes to turn towards her. And the red-headed young man, who had been stooping to pick up his gloves, straightened himself with a jerk and stood staring at her blankly and incredulously, his face slowly crimsoning.
3
It was the energetic Mr. Burrowes who broke the spell.
“Come on, come on,” he said impatiently. “Li'l speed there, Reddy.”
Ginger Kemp started like a sleep-walker awakened; then recovering himself, slowly began to pull on the gloves. Embarrassment was stamped on his agreeable features. His face matched his hair.