"Do you compare yourself with Napoleon?" inquires Hazel, with withering scorn. It was wasted on Mike.
"Why not? The French is as good as we are, ain't they?" he says.
That won and Hazel threw up her hands with a whinney of resignation!
Deliberately turning his back on the outraged Hazel, Michael then began promoting himself with me. After he told me that I was as soothing to the eyes as boric acid and I told him to behave or I'd give him the last lesson first, he explained the weights in the different classes of pugilism. His life-long ambition was to become champion in his own division, the bantam-weight, and according to Mike that ambition would be realized shortly after he arrived in New York. Honest to Brooklyn, he had more confidence in himself than a deep-sea diver ducking his head in a bathtub!
Plenty amused by Miguel's English and quaint philosophy, I looked forward to lots of guffaws on what wotld otherwise be a brutal boat ride back home, as I'm no sailor. I was not disappointed regarding Mike's entertainment value. Believe me, he certainly gave us service!
About half-way to the dock our taxi suddenly came to a slithering stop, with a screech and burning of emergency brakes. To the accompaniment of some choice cockney oaths from our chauffeur, a muttered
