Joe shook his head gently and pulled himself to his feet. “No, he ain’t sick, he’s—he’s confined to his bed.” He chuckled, much to the mystification of the others. Eldredge scowled.
“What is this, a silly joke?” he demanded peevishly.
“No, oh, no, it ain’t any joke,” answered Joe gravely. “It’s this way, Eldredge. Foster’s no scrapper. Doesn’t know the first thing about it. Of course you didn’t know that when you arranged this party. You wanted a nice little fight. Foster couldn’t give it to you. Why, he doesn’t know how to even block. You wouldn’t have had any sport at all. It would have been all over in a wag of a duck’s tail. I told him that, but he wouldn’t see it. I said: ‘This guy Eldredge wants a scrap, kiddo. He doesn’t want to get up at that time of day just to see you topple over every time he reaches out. Give him a chance,’ I said. ‘You stay in bed and I’ll take the job off your hands.’ Course, I’m no professional, Eldredge, but I know enough to give you a bit of fun. But Foster wouldn’t see it. Insisted that he had to come himself.”
“Say, for the love of Mike,” broke in Eldredge, “are you crazy?”
“Me? No, I don’t believe so,” answered Joe mildly. “Anyway, I couldn’t get him to look at it right, and so this morning I just woke up a bit early and tied him up in bed.” He chuckled. “I’ll bet he’s spouting blue murder right now!”
“That’s a likely yarn!” sneered Eldredge. “Tied up in bed! Yes, he is—not! He got you to come and tell that story to save his face!”
“Well, I sort of came to save his face,” answered Joe genially, “but not just the way you mean: and he didn’t have anything to do with it. He’s tied right down to his bed this minute.”
“If he is,” said Rogers, “he helped do it.”
“No.” Joe shook his head patiently. “He was asleep. I’d like you guys to believe that. It always sort of disgruntles me when folks don’t believe what I tell ’em, and I’m likely to get real mad.”