Bailey stepped that way.
While Bailey was driving to the studio in his taxicab, Kirk, in boxing trunks and a sleeveless vest, was engaged on his daily sparring exercise with Steve Dingle.
This morning Steve seemed to be amused at something. As they rested, at the conclusion of their fifth and final round, Kirk perceived that he was chuckling, and asked the reason.
“Why, say,” explained Steve, “I was only thinking that it takes all kinds of ivory domes to make a nuttery. I ran across a new brand of simp this morning. Just before I came to you I’m scheduled to show up at one of these Astorbilt homes t’other side of the park. First I mix it with the old man, then son and heir blows in and I attend to him.
“Well, this morning, son acts like he’s all worked up. He’s one of these half-portion Willie-boys with Chippendale legs, but he throws out a line of talk that would make you wonder if it’s safe to let him run around loose. Says his mind’s made up; he’s going to thrash a gink within an inch of his life; going to muss up his features so bad he’ll have to have ’em replanted.
“‘Why?’ I says. ‘Never you mind,’ says he. ‘Well, who is he?’ I asks. What do you think happens then? He thinks hard for a spell, rolls his eyes, and says: ‘Search me. I’ve forgotten.’ ‘Know where he lives?’ I asks him. ‘Nope,’ he says.
“Can you beat it! Seems to me if I had a kink in my coco that big I’d phone to an alienist and have myself measured for a strait-jacket. Gee! You meet all kinds, going around the way I do.”
Kirk laughed and lit a cigarette.
“If you want to use the shower, Steve,” he said, “you’d better get up there now. I shan’t be ready yet awhile. Then, if this is one of your energetic mornings and you would care to give me a rub-down——”