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“I’ve seen ‘m,” the secretary said.”He’s worked a lot for you.”

“All the big little fellows has tried out on him,” Roberts answered.”And he’s learned from ’em. I’ve seen some of them he could lick. But his heart wasn’t in it. I reckoned he never liked the game. He seemed to act that way.”

“He’s been fighting some before the little clubs the last few months,” Kelly said.

“Sure. But I don’t know what struck ‘m. All of a sudden his heart got into it. He just went out like a streak and cleaned up all the little local fellows. Seemed to want the money, and he’s won a bit, though his clothes don’t look it. He’s peculiar. Nobody knows his business. Nobody knows how he spends his time. Even when he’s on the job, he plumb up and disappears most of each day soon as his work is done. Sometimes he just blows away for weeks at a time. But he don’t take advice. There’s a fortune in it for the fellow that gets the job of managin’ him, only he won’t consider it. And you watch him hold out for the cash money when you get down to terms.”

It was at this stage that Danny Ward arrived. Quite a party it was. His manager and trainer were with him, and he breezed in like a gusty draught of geniality, good-nature, and all-conqueringness. Greetings flew about, a joke here, a retort there, a smile or a laugh for everybody. Yet it was his way, and only partly sincere. He was a good actor, and he had found geniality a most valuable asset in the game of getting on in the world. But down underneath he was the deliberate, cold-blooded fighter and business man. The rest was a mask. Those who knew him or trafficked with him said that when it came to brass tacks he was Danny-on-the-Spot. He was invariably present at all business discussions, and it was urged by some that his manager was a blind whose only function was to serve as Danny’s mouth-piece.

Rivera’s way was different. Indian blood, as well as Spanish, was in his veins, and he sat back in a corner, silent, immobile, only his black eyes passing from face to face and noting everything.

“So that’s the guy,” Danny said, running an appraising eye over his proposed antagonist.”How de do, old chap.”

Rivera’s eyes burned venomously, but he made no sign of acknowledgment. He disliked all Gringos, but this Gringo he hated with an immediacy that was unusual even in him.

“Gawd!” Danny protested facetiously to the promoter.”You ain’t expectin’ me to fight a deef mute.” When the laughter subsided, he made another hit.”Los Angeles must be on the dink when this is the best you can scare up. What kindergarten did you get ‘m from?”

“He’s a good little boy, Danny, take it from me,” Roberts defended.”Not as easy as he looks.”

“And half the house is sold already,” Kelly pleaded.”You’ll have to take ‘m on, Danny. It is the best we can do.”

Danny ran another careless and unflattering glance over Rivera and sighed.

“I gotta be easy with ‘m, I guess. If only he don’t blow up.”

Roberts snorted.

“You gotta be careful,” Danny’s manager warned.”No taking chances with a dub that’s likely to sneak a lucky one across.”

“Oh, I’ll be careful all right, all right,” Danny smiled.”I’ll get in at the start an’ nurse ‘im along for the dear public’s sake. What d’ ye say to fifteen rounds, Kelly—an’ then the hay for him?”

“That’ll do,” was the answer.”As long as you make it realistic.”

“Then let’s get down to biz.” Danny paused and calculated.”Of course, sixty-five per cent of the gate receipts, same as with Carthey. But the split’ll be different. Eighty will just about suit me.” And to his manager, “That right?”