Get a Load of This

     Nothing further was said about it after that, and Slug went through with his fight in rather an abstract manner. He was a good enough fighter, and didn't have to exert himself to beat his opponent. The shouts of appreciation from the crowd did a lot to bolster up his confidence, and when the manager paid him fifty dollars, he did not hesitate to demand another twenty-five advance. This he got after some unpleasantness, and he immediately went back to his lodgings, refusing any attempt to persuade him to join in the celebrations that were in progress. He knew that he'd want every dollar he could lay hands on for tomorrow evening, and he was not spending anything until then.

     When he got home he searched in the back of one of the three chest of drawers and brought out a further twenty-five dollars, which he always kept handy for emergencies such as this. He now had a hundred dollars and some small change, and he felt confident that he would get by with that amount of money. All the same, it was all the dough he had in the world, and he had got to keep something to live on for the next week or so until he fought again.

     “Aw, to hell with it,” he said, and put the small roll in his pocket. He couldn't spend all that in an evening. It was enough for him to live on for a month.

     The next evening came round and found Slug struggling with his stiff shirt. With the aid of the landlady and her daughter, who were quite immune to his somewhat obscene ravings, he got his collar and tie fixed at last. When he finally took stock of himself in the glass he was agreeably surprised. The stiff black-and-white effect of the evening clothes softened the brutal coarseness of his features and his great bulk assumed a sharper outline in the carefully cut suit, making him look big and well built.

     The landlady's daughter, a monkey-like little creature with a bad squint, declared that he was as handsome as Dempsey, which pleased his vanity.

     He pulled on his slouch hat, put his small roll in his trouser pocket and left the house. He stopped at the nearest saloon and had three stiff whiskies, noting with a mixture of pride and irritated embarrassment the nudging that went on amongst his acquaintances.

     By the time he reached the barber's shop he was feeling pleasantly tight, and had got fairly used to the collar and shirt which had threatened to strangle him. He found Brownrigg closing up, and he entered the shop with a swagger that was plainly to impress.

     Brownrigg looked him over not without a certain admiration. “Say, Mr. Moynihan, you're looking swell tonight,” he said, “that's a grand suit you've got there.”

     Slug flicked an invisible speck from the coat. “You think so?” he asked. “Well, boy, this suit cost plenty. It oughtta look good.” He glanced round the room. “Ain't she here yet?”

     Brownrigg jerked his head towards the manicure parlour. “She's gettin' ready,” he said with a wink. “Where are you takin' her, Mr. Moynihan?”

     Slug selected a cigar from a box on the counter. “The 'Ambassadors',” he said carelessly. “I like to take my dames to the right joints.”

     Brownrigg whistled. “Say,” he said, “you certainly are goin' places.” He hurriedly struck a match and lit Slug's cigar.

     Slug didn't offer to pay for it, and Brownrigg, after a moment's hesitation, decided to let it ride. Just then Rose came out from behind the curtained doorway and stood looking at Slug with a little smile.

     Slug could hardly believe his eyes, she looked so beautiful. Her dress clung to her figure, revealing curves that he had suspected but was never quite sure were there. It was a bottle-green affair, tight in the bodice and round her neat hips and then flowed loosely to her feet. Her hair was dressed low to her shoulders, and her make-up was flawless, startling and provocative. He thought she looked like a high-class movie star.

     “You look swell,” he said, and meant it.

     She moved a little to the right and then to the left so that he could admire her more easily. “You like me?” she asked. “That's fine. You don't look such a tramp yourself, you know.”

     Brownrigg nodded his approval. “You look a grand couple,” he said. “Now get along an' enjoy yourselves, I want to shut down.”

     Rose moved past Slug and he caught the scent of a heady perfume. He followed her out, feeling a little dazed. It was as if he were experiencing a magnificent dream.

     As soon as they were outside, Rose glanced up and down the street and frowned. “Where's the car?” she asked.

     Slug, who had every intention of taking a trolley, felt a sudden twinge of apprehension. “I ain't gotta car,” he said.

     “Oh, don't say ain't, it's vulgar,” she said a little sharply. “I thought you were bound to have a car. Well, get a taxi. It's quite cold standing here.”

     Slug said, “Sure, sure,” rather feebly, and waved at a yellow cab that cruised by on the opposite side of the road.