"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."
I knew that. "I just got tired of getting pushed around. Besides, with no pants I was stuck to that chair."
"Probably." His tongue pushed gently against his sore lip. "You think that was the right way to go about making things better?"
Maybe not. But did he have any better ideas?