anic or
a janitor's assistant or an elevator boy or something like that. The
buyer of his seat, finding himself unable to come at the last moment,
had given the kid his ticket and he was having the time of his life.

Johnson Boller hunched down again with a sad little grunt. He had meant
to enjoy this star bout; only a week ago, in fact, before the Montreal
horror loomed up, he had been considering just how an evening might be
snatched from the happy home life without disturbing Beatrice--who,
ignorant of modern pugilism, disapproved prize-fighting on the ground of
brutality. And now it was ruined, because Johnson Boller's next half
hour would have to go to the devising of means by which Anthony could be
steered from his idiotic experiment, whatever it might be in concrete
form.

Anthony meant to offer this youngster opportunity--how or in what form
Anthony himself doubtless did not know as yet. But he did intend to
speak to him and, unless Johnson Boller's faculty for guessing was much
in error, he meant to lead the youngster hence, perhaps to feed him in a
restaurant while he talked him full of abstract theory, perhaps even to
take him home to the Lasande.

But whatever he intended, it wouldn't do. Johnson Boller really needed
Anthony this night. He needed Anthony to listen while he talked about
the absent Beatrice, and recalled all her beauty, all her fire, all her
adorable qualities; he needed Anthony at the other side of the
chessboard, over which game Johnson Boller could grow so profoundly
sleepy that even Beatrice _en route_ to Siam would hardly have disturbed
him. And he needed no third person!

Toward the end of the fifth round, however, Johnson Boller grew
painfully conscious that he had as yet concocted no very promising
scheme. Indeed, the lone inspiration so far included whispering to the
kid that the gentleman on his other side was mildly insane and that
flight were best, should the gentleman address him; but Anthony
persisted in leaning so close to the youngster that whispering was
impossible.

Also, it occurred to Johnson Boller that he himself might be taken
violently ill--that he might clutch his heart and beg Anthony to lead
him to the outer air. There was little in that, though; the chances were
more than even that Anthony, if his enthusiasm as to the victim still
persisted, would request the youngster's assistance in getting him out.

And the enthusiasm seemed enduring enough. They were in t