“Eldon? Your name’s Eldon?”
Eldon nodded.
“Are you the Eldon that knocked a fellow about my size about ten yards for a touch-down across the footlights once?”
Eldon blushed to find his prowess fame, and said: “Yes. Once.”
“Well, I’m the fellow,” said Winfield, trying to call his ancient grudge to the banquet. “I’ve been looking for you ever since. I promised myself the pleasure of beating you up.”
Eldon laughed: “Well, here I am. I’ve been ashamed of it for a long time. I took an unfair advantage of you.”
“Advantage nothing,” said Winfield. “I ought to have been on my guard.”
“Well,” Eldon suggested. “Suppose I stand down here on the apron of the stage and let you have a whack at me. See if you can put me into the orchestra chairs farther than I put you.”
Winfield sighed. “Hell! I can’t hit you now. I’ve shaken hands with you, unbeknownst. I guess it’s all off. I couldn’t slug a man that made me laugh so hard. Shake!”
He put out his hand and the enemies gripped a truce. Winfield was laughing, but there was a bitterness in his laugh. He had been struck in the face and he could not requite the debt.