At the gymnasium they gathered in Andy’s room, and for the first time Donald told them of the attempted “frame-up” proposed by Garrieau’s manager. Douglas strode across the room and gripped Donald’s hand. Not a word was uttered by anyone, but the silence was more eloquent than speech.
They were all in a happy mood after the prolonged strain of the day. Andy was in particularly high spirits. “Gentlemen,” he began grandiloquently, “I ’ave before me on the tyble ’ere a most wonderful little ’andbag. All it ’ad in it this morning was a dirty collar and a shirt stud. Now,” making a dramatic gesture, “it’s the bloomin’ ’orn of plenty!” He turned the satchel upside down and a mass of bills, coins and cheques fell upon the table.
“’Ere, Gillis,” cried Andy, as he selected a bill, “will you go out and get some champagne, and when you goes in the bar buy a drink for the ’ouse. Bring ginger ale for Donnie; ’is manager’ll drink ’is share of the wine.”
Andy sorted the money into piles and sat quietly counting for a few minutes. “Fifteen thousand and a few odd dollars,” he announced.
“What!” ejaculated Donald. He was astounded. He had given the size of the purse little thought. “I had no idea it would be so much,” he said in a surprised tone.
“Oh, the boxin’ gyme is a great gyme,” said Andy.
“Yes,” remarked Douglas, “but after seeing that bout to-day I’m going to take up tiddly-winks instead; it’s not so rough.”
When the big man returned with the wine Donald turned to Douglas. “It seems that you and Gillis are old friends.”
“Why, yes, Jack’s been one of Dad’s right-hand men for—how long, Jack?”
“And I’m equally interested to know how you and Jack know each other so well,” said Douglas curiously.
“I met Donald on the train comin’ out,” answered Gillis quickly.
“Come on, boys,” cried Andy, “we’ll drink to the new champ—to Donnie’s health.” Andy held his glass aloft. “Boys, I can’t make much of a speech, as I ’ave only ’ad one drink. Stand up while we drink to our Donnie. I knows that ’e’s goin’ to leave me, and that ’e’s goin’ to give up the boxin’ gyme. I knows that ’e isn’t in the ’abit of mixin’ with the likes o’ me. I knows that I’m lucky to be blackin’ the boots o’ a man like ’im. But when I knows that ’e went into this fight to ’elp a poor little bloke like me out of an ’ole, I’m proud, boys, I’m proud! I’ve seen many a fight, and I’ve seen many a gyme man. But strike me blind if Donnie didn’t this day teach me something about sheer grit. When ’e came stumblin’ to me at the end of that—that third round—I—I——” He stopped. “You know what ’appened,” he continued in a husky voice. “I ask nothin’ better’n to ’ave ’im for me pal. ’Ere’s to the gymest man that ever stepped in shoe-leather! ’Ere’s to ’im!” Andy turned away quickly to light a cigarette. His eyes were moist. The room was silent.