Donald cursed the irrepressible youth’s sense of humour. If he could have reached the humorist at that moment he would have pitched him into the Inlet without compunction.
Janet eyed her brother with disapproval. “What are you talking about, Doug? Have you taken leave of your senses entirely?”
“I will bring forth the erring knight for you to censure,” rejoined her brother, bowing low in exaggerated deference. “Ho!” he shouted, “leave thy woodsy bower, Sir Don, the goddess awaits thee.”
Seething inwardly, Donald tried to appear dignified as he stepped to the road, but the attempt was a dismal failure. How could one approach anything like dignity when dressed in a pair of running trunks, a torn and frayed jersey, socks turned down over a pair of dirty tennis shoes, and without hat or coat? All this added to the fact that he faced a battery of two big brown eyes, possessed by a lovely girl immaculately dressed, who thought him a masher. The greatest actor in the world would fail to register dignity under such conditions. He had a confused remembrance of a jumble of words that went for a formal introduction. He felt his face hot, and knew he was blushing furiously, which did not add to his composure.
The girl looked down curiously, but not without interest, at the embarrassed young man.
Donald finally mustered courage to glance up at the face above him. The deep brown eyes regarding him held just a trace of humour. The full red lips were parted to show a flash of white, even teeth.
“It is a pleasure to meet you even under such inauspicious circumstances,” stammered Donald. He turned to glare at the grinning cause of his discomfiture. “I would suggest, Miss Rennie, that you have a doctor waiting at your home, as I intend to commit mayhem on the person of your brother as soon as you have gone.”
Janet laughed. “I will go now to give you the chance.” With a playful flick of her whip toward Douglas, she was off like an arrow.
Donald turned to his friend. “I hope that you are satisfied now that you have made an ass out of me.”
“Quite happy, old dear. I didn’t find it a hard job.”
Donald laughed. “I’ll race you to the gym.”
As the bout was to take place on Monday, this was to be the last day of training. The fans who had flocked to see Donald in his work-outs admitted that he had wonderful speed, but would be unable to stay the twenty rounds with the formidable Garrieau. The verdict of the knowing ones was that it would take more than a snappy left hand to lift the laurels from the champion who possessed the virtue of the terrible punch.