Donald crossed the street to the Hancock House and sank moodily to a chair in the corner of the lobby. His confinement in the jail and the preceding festivities had robbed him of a night’s rest, and he suddenly realized that he was very tired and sleepy. Forgetting the change in his circumstances, he engaged an expensive room on the first floor and immediately went to bed.
Upon awakening Donald switched on the light and lay for awhile trying to adjust himself to this new situation. Serious meditation, however, brought him no nearer a solution of his problem. A cold bath, followed by a brisk rub down and clean linen, removed all the remaining traces of his night of wild revelry.
The news of John McLean’s break with his son spread rapidly through the small New England city. On his way to the desk to order his baggage to be sent to the dock Donald was beset by several friends who were loud in voicing their sympathy. Extricating himself as quickly as possible, he made his way to the elevator. Quick steps sounded behind him, and, turning, he looked into the smiling face of his boxing instructor, Spike Ryan.
“Hello, Kid, how they comin’?” grinned Spike.
Once inside the room, Donald turned to his visitor. “If you start any of this sympathy stuff I’ll hand you that famous ‘one-two’ punch you taught me.”
“Sympathy be damned,” chuckled Spike. “Dis is your lucky day. I come here to congratulate you, to give you de glad hand.”
“Why all the joy? Most of my friends seem to think it is my funeral.”
“Say, Donnie,” Spike said earnestly, “I bin watchin’ ya pretty close for de past year, an’ ya sure bin ridin’ for a fall. Another year of de way ya bin hittin’ her up an’ y’d have taken de count of ten an’ be sittin’ wid de stew-bums. Ya bin fightin’ an exhibition wid life wid soft twelve-ounce gloves, an’ de both of ya fightin’ under wraps an’ pullin’ y’r punches. From now on de fight will be on de square an’ to a finish wid bare knuckles. De guy in de other corner will hand ya some awful jolts, an’ y’ll have to do some pretty fast work wid y’r dukes an’ pins to keep away from de slumber swat. But, Donnie, ya got de goods in ya. Nearly four years in an engineerin’ course in de college gives ya a better start than most of us guys. I’m backin’ ya to win.”