From his forehead her hand moved back over his hair and lingered at the back of his neck. Bearcat’s heart began to beat a little abnormally. Her lips were not far away from his, and her breath which came gently against his face was fragrant with some elusive perfume. Her lips looked soft and velvety as a rose-petal. He wanted to kiss her then and there.

The other boys felt the same way. But they saw that the Bearcat was interested in her and laid off. They talked about the fight among themselves and praised the Bearcat loudly.

Charlie Yates appeared in the doorway, and when he saw what was going on his lips contracted into a thin line as he approached the combined tables. He knew Babe. Knew her like a book, for she had ruined more than one promising white hope, so when he saw her hand stroking the Bearcat’s head he exploded:

“What the hell do you call this?“

Babe looked up and gave him a smile that was innocence itself.

“It’s all right, Charlie,” she said. “I won’t hurt him. I only want to feel his muscles.”

The crowd laughed.

Charlie Yates knew that Babe had beaten him to it. She had already got in some of her fine work, but he’d have her framed before she could really get her hooks on Bearcat. By God, he’d fix her! Charlie had seen too many promising fighters succumb to the enervating charms of mercenary tarts to take any chances now.

And Babe needed but a glance at Charlie’s eyes to realize that from that moment forward he was her deadliest enemy.

But Charlie hesitated to make a scene. It was a big night for the Bearcat—the boy deserved a little relaxation, and it might be wise not to be too hard on him. There were plenty of managers who would be glad of the chance to pirate Bearcat from him, even though a solid con tract bound them together.

“All right,” said Charlie, to the Bearcat, “have your fun. But don’t forget you need rest. I’m going to the hotel now. I want to see you there in an hour.”

“Okay, Charlie,” replied the Bearcat, blushing a little, for Babe still stroked the back of his head. He was a bit ashamed in front of Charlie, with his hard, searching eyes. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

Without so much as a courteous good-night to the other members of the party, Charlie turned on his heel and walked out.

“I guess Charlie’s mad,” said Babe.

“Yeah,” Bearcat grinned, “but he’ll get over it. He don’t like girls.”

“Say, I know Charlie,” Babe informed him. “He likes girls all right, but he don’t want his fighters to like girls. You like me, all right, don’t you?”