pose showed up at the Studio next forenoon? Him and
maw; she smilin' all over and tickled to death to think she'd got him
there; Langdon actin' like a bear with a sore ear.

"Maybe you hadn't better wait," says I to her.

"Oh, yes," says she. "I am going to stay and watch dear Langdon box,
you know."

Well, unless I ruled her out flat, there was no way of changin' her
mind; so I had to let her stay. And she saw Langdon box. Oh, yes!
For an amateur, he puts up a fairly good exhibition, and as I didn't
have the heart to throw the hook into him with her sittin' there
lookin' so cheerful, about all I does is step around and block his
swings and jabs. And say, with him carryin' his guard high, and
leavin' the way to his meat safe open half the time, it was all I could
do to hold myself back.

The only fun I gets is watchin' Swifty Joe's face out of the corner of
my eye. He was pipin' us off from the start. First his mouth comes
open a foot or so as he sees me let a chance slide, and when I misses
more openin's he takes on a look like some one had fed him a ripe egg.

Langdon is havin' the time of his life. He can hit as hard as he
likes, and he don't get hit back. Must have seemed real homelike to
him. Anyway, soon's he dopes it out that there ain't any danger at
all, he bores in like a snow plough, and between blockin' and duckin' I
has my hands full.

Just how Langdon has it sized up I couldn't make out; but like as not I
made somethin' of a hit with him. I put it down that way when he shows
up one afternoon with his bubble, and offers to take me for a spin. It
was so unexpected to find him tryin' to do somethin' agreeable that I
don't feel like I ought to throw him down. So I pulls on a sweater and
climbs in next to the steerin' wheel.

There wa'n't anything fancy about Langdon's oil waggon. He'd had the
tonneau stripped off, and left just the front seat--no varnished wood,
only a coat of primin' paint and a layer of mud splashed over that.
But we hadn't gone a dozen blocks before I am wise to the fact that
nothin' was the matter with the cog wheels underneath.

"Kind of a high powered cart, ain't it?" says I.

"Only ninety horse," says Langdon, jerkin' us around a Broadway car so
fast that we grazed both ends at once.

"You needn't hit 'er up on my account," says I, as we scoots across the
Plaza, makin' a cab horse stand on his hind legs to give us room.

"I'm only on the second speed," says he