glowing, tasting praise. He was conscious of Jim's eyes on his back, and he turned toward the bed, defiantly.
They stared, in a tug of war. Elmer gave in with a furious:
"Well, then, why didn't you say something while he was here?"
"To him? Talk to a curly wolf when he smells meat? Besides, he's intelligent, that fellow."
"Well, say, I'm glad to hear you say that, because—well, you see—I'll explain how I feel."
"Oh, no, you won't, sweetheart! You haven't got to the miracle-pulling stage yet. Sure he's intelligent. I never heard a better exhibition of bunco-steering in my life. Sure! He's just crazy to have you come up and kick him in the ear and tell him you've decided you can't give your imprimatur—"
"My what?"
"—to his show, and he's to quit and go back to hod-carrying. Sure. He read all about your great game with Thorvilsen. Sent off to New York to get the Review of Reviews and read more about it. Eddie Fislinger never told him a word. He read about your tackling in the London Times. You bet. Didn't he say so? And he's a saved soul—he couldn't lie. And he just couldn't stand it if he didn't become a friend of yours. He can't know more than a couple of thousand collidge boys to spring that stuff on! . . . You bet I believe in the old bearded Jew God! Nobody but him could have made all the idiots there are in the world!"
"Gee, Jim, honest, you don't understand Jud."
"No. I don't. When he could be a decent prize-fighter, and not have to go around with angleworms like Eddie Fislinger day after day!"
And thus till midnight, for all Jim's fevers.
But Elmer was at Judson Roberts' meeting next evening, unprotected by Jim, who remained at home in so vile a temper that Elmer had sent in a doctor and sneaked away from the room for the afternoon.
It was undoubtedly Eddie who wrote or telegraphed to Mrs. Gantry that she would do well to be present at the meeting. Paris was only forty miles from Gritzmacher Springs.
