Chapter III
Genevieve slipped on a pair of Joe's shoes, light-soled and dapper, and
laughed with Lottie, who stooped to turn up the trousers for her. Lottie
was his sister, and in the secret. To her was due the inveigling of his
mother into making a neighborhood call so that they could have the house
to themselves. They went down into the kitchen where Joe was waiting. His face brightened as he came to meet her, love shining frankly forth.
"Now get up those skirts, Lottie," he commanded. "Haven't any time to
waste. There, that'll do. You see, you only want the bottoms of the
pants to show. The coat will cover the rest. Now let's see how it'll
fit.
"Borrowed it from Chris; he's a dead sporty sport--little, but oh, my!" he went on, helping Genevieve into an overcoat which fell to her heels and which fitted her as a tailor-made overcoat should fit the man for whom it is made.
Joe put a cap on her head and turned up the collar, which was generous to
exaggeration, meeting the cap and completely hiding her hair. When he
buttoned the collar in front, its points served to cover the cheeks, chin
and mouth were buried in its depths, and a close scrutiny revealed only
shadowy eyes and a little less shadowy nose. She walked across the room, the bottom of the trousers just showing as the bang of the coat was disturbed by movement.
"A sport with a cold and afraid of catching more, all right all right," the boy laughed, proudly surveying his handiwork. "How much money you got? I'm layin' ten to six. Will you take the short end?"
"Who's short?" she asked.
"Ponta, of course," Lottie blurted out her hurt, as though there could be
any question of it even for an instant.
"Of course," Genevieve said sweetly, "only I don't know much about such
things."
This time Lottie kept her lips together, but the new hurt showed on her
face. Joe looked at his watch and said it was time to go. His sister's
arms went about his neck, and she kissed him soundly on the lips. She
kissed Genevieve, too, and saw them to the gate, one arm of her brother
about her waist.
"What does ten to six mean?" Genevieve asked, the while their footfalls
rang out on the frosty air.
"That I'm the long end, the favorite," he answered. "That a man bets ten
dollars at the ring side that I win against six dollars another man is
betting that I lose."
"But if you're the favorite and everybody thinks you'll win, how does
anybody bet against you?"
"That's what makes prize-fighting--difference of opinion," he laughed. "Besides, there's always the chance of a lucky punch, an accident. Lots of chance," he said gravely.
She shrank against him, clingingly and protectingly, and he laughed with
surety.
"You wait, and you'll see. An' don't get scared at the start. The first
few rounds'll be something fierce. That's Ponta's strong point. He's a
wild man, with an kinds of punches,--a whirlwind,--and he gets his man in
the first rounds. He's put away a whole lot of cleverer and better men
than him. It's up to me to live through it, that's all. Then he'll be
all in. Then I go after him, just watch. You'll know when I go after
him, an' I'll get'm, too."
They came to the hall, on a dark street-corner, ostensibly the quarters
of an athletic club, but in reality an institution designed for pulling
off fights and keeping within the police ordinance. Joe drew away from
her, and they walked apart to the entrance.
"Keep your hands in your pockets whatever you do," Joe warned her, "and
it'll be all right. Only a couple of minutes of it."
"He's with me," Joe said to the door-keeper, who was talking with a
policeman.
Both men greeted him familiarly, taking no notice of his companion.
"They never tumbled; nobody'll tumble," Joe assured her, as they climbed
the stairs to the second story. "And even if they did, they wouldn't
know who it was and they's keep it mum for me. Here, come in here!"
He whisked her into a little office-like room and left her seated on a
dusty, broken-bottomed chair. A few minutes later he was back again, clad in a long bath robe, canvas shoes on his feet. She began to tremble against him, and his arm passed gently around her.
"It'll be all right, Genevieve," he said encouragingly. "I've got it all
fixed. Nobody'll tumble."
"It's you, Joe," she said. "I don't care for myself. It's you."