red, shepherding a young man
whose face was hidden by the sweater which he was pulling over his head.
He was a sturdily built young man. The sweater, moving from his body,
revealed a good pair of shoulders.

A last tug, and the sweater was off. Red hair flashed into view, tousled
and disordered: and, as she saw it, Sally uttered an involuntary gasp
of astonishment which caused many eyes to turn towards her. And the
red-headed young man, who had been stooping to pick up his gloves,
straightened himself with a jerk and stood staring at her blankly and
incredulously, his face slowly crimsoning.

3

It was the energetic Mr. Burrowes who broke the spell.

"Come on, come on," he said impatiently. "Li'l speed there, Reddy."

Ginger Kemp started like a sleep-walker awakened; then recovering
himself, slowly began to pull on the gloves. Embarrassment was stamped
on his agreeable features. His face matched his hair.

Sally plucked at the little manager's elbow. He turned irritably, but
beamed in a distrait sort of manner when he perceived the source of the
interruption.

"Who--him?" he said in answer to Sally's whispered question. "He's just
one of Bugs' sparring-partners."

"But..."

Mr. Burrowes, fussy now that the time had come for action, interrupted
her.

"You'll excuse me, miss, but I have to hold the watch. We mustn't waste
any time."

Sally drew back. She felt like an infidel who intrudes upon the
celebration of strange rites. This was Man's hour, and women must keep
in the background. She had the sensation of being very small and yet
very much in the way, like a puppy who has wandered into a church. The
novelty and solemnity of the scene awed her.

She looked at Ginger, who with averted gaze was fiddling with his
clothes in the opposite corner of the ring. He was as removed from
communication as if he had been in another world. She continued to
stare, wide-eyed, and Ginger, shuffling his feet self-consciously,
plucked at his gloves.

Mr. Butler, meanwhile, having doffed his bath-robe, stretched himself,
and with leisurely nonchalance put on a second pair of gloves, was
filling in the time with a little shadow boxing. He moved rhythmically
to and fro, now ducking his head, now striking out with his muffled
hands, and a sickening realization of the man's animal power swept over
Sally and turned her cold. Swathed in his bath-robe, Bugs Butler had
conveyed an atmosphere of dangerousness: in the boxin