"Tell me about it."
"Well, he was trying to arrest me, so I threw a table-cloth over his head and then plugged him a couple of rather juicy ones which made him leave go."
Mrs. Waddington's eyes glistened. She put her arm through his.
"George," she said, "I have misjudged you. I could wish Molly no better husband."
Hamilton Beamish stood in the moonlight, swinging his dumb-bells. Having done this for awhile, he embarked on a few simple setting-up exercises. He stood with his feet some six inches apart, his toes turned slightly out: then, placing his hands on his hips, thumbs back, bent slightly forward from the shoulders—not from the hips. He retracted the lower abdomen, and, holding it retracted, leaned well over to the left side, contracting the muscles of the left side forcibly. He kept his legs straight all the time, his knees stiff. He reversed to right side, and repeated twenty times—ten right, ten left. This exercise was done slowly and steadily, without jerking.
"Ah!" said Hamilton Beamish, relaxing. "Splendid for the transversalis muscle, that, converting it into a living belt which girds the loins. Have you ever given considered thought to the loins, Garroway?"
The policeman shook his head.
"Not that I know of," he said indifferently. "I've seen 'em in the Bronx Zoo."
Hamilton Beamish eyed him with concern.