Charlie stepped quickly to a house phone and lifted the receiver.

“Hello,” he snarled into the mouthpiece. “Who do you want? Who are you?”

Babe, who was on the other end, immediately recognized Charlie’s gruff voice. She was too fast for Charlie.

“Hello, Bearcat,” she said. “I just wanted to say good-night, dear. Get a good rest, honey.”

Charlie banged down the receiver. His teeth clamped his cigar like a vise. He went back to the desk and leaned over toward the clerk.

“Listen, Jack,” he said, “if any dames call up for the Bearcat, switch ’em on to me. Get me?”

“That’s okay with me,” replied the clerk. “You know what you’re doing.”

“You’re damn right I do,” said Charlie, puffing furiously on his cigar. “All that guy needs is a few dames an’ he’s through.”

“Oh, sure, they’re bad stuff,” said the clerk, “for a fighter,” he added qualifyingly.

Charlie walked over and took Bearcat by the arm.

“You’ve been up late enough, kid. Come on to bed.”

Bearcat was tired and glad to get away from the admiring crowd. But he set himself for a laying out from Charlie, and he was surprised when the latter left him at the door to his room, with a brief “Good-night.”

The Bearcat proceeded to undress rapidly. Tomorrow was Sunday, and he was glad he could spend the day loafing. He thought of his coming date with Babe, and sat on the edge of the bed with one sock in his hand, while he grieved over his neglect in not inquiring if Babe had a telephone.

“Now, there is one swell girl,” he thought, as he exercised for fifteen minutes. “The kind of a girl who could help a fellow. With a girl like that back of him, a guy could be a real success.”

After a shower he jumped into bed and soon was asleep, his last fleeting thoughts being about Babe and their meeting tomorrow.

In the morning, he was up and dressed by eleven o’clock. He hated to think that he would have to wait nearly seven whole hours before he would see Babe. He breakfasted lightly in the hotel and strolled into the lobby to kill some time.

Charlie was sitting comfortably in one of the deep leather chairs with a half-smoked cigar tilted at right angles in his mouth.

“Have a good sleep?” he asked.

“Sure,” replied the Bearcat. “I feel great.”

“You got some great write-ups in the papers,” Charlie said. “They all say you look like champeenship material. See, ain’t that what I been tellin’ you right along?”

“Yeah,” said the Bearcat. “Well, you know I’m achin’ to be the champ, Charlie.”

“An’ if I got anything to do with it, you will be,” answered Charlie, tossing his cigar-butt into a convenient cuspidor. He looked up into Bearcat’s face searchingly.