One big fellow, just the right size, puffed out his cheeks. "Just whom do you think you are addressing?"
Whom. I looked him over. I never did like people who wore van Dyke goatees. I put whom and van Dyke on the floor. It was a good Donnybrook while it lasted. The last thing I remember was the gong in the next room clanging steadily while Stein, good old Stein, right in there beside me was swinging and yelling, "Don't hurt him! Don't hurt him!"
I woke up with another headache. When I sat up with a grunt and looked around I saw Stein and his nose four inches from a mirror, gingerly trying his tongue against his front teeth. I snickered. He didn't like that, and turned around.
"You don't look so hot yourself."
He was right. I couldn't see much out of my left eye. We grinned at each other. "Right in there pitching, weren't you?"
He shrugged. "What did you expect me to do?"
"Run for help," I told him. "Or stand there and watch me get a going over."
"Sure." He looked uncomfortable. "I'm supposed to keep an eye on you."
"So you did." I thought back. "What happened to Whom when I addressed him properly?"
It must have hurt his cheek when he tried to smile. "Still out, at last report. You know, Pete, you have a fairly good left-and a lousy temper."