The place was an Italian restaurant, dimly lighted with little lamps at each table. They had a table d’hote dinner for a dollar and a half, which Babe ordered. The Bearcat was undecided at first whether he wanted that much to eat, since he had had a late breakfast, but he saw nothing to his liking that was not included in the dinner, so he also chose the table d’hote. The heavy, greasy food was certainly not the kind for a fighter in training and the Bearcat had his doubts whether he should touch any of it. However, Babe tasted the thick minestrone soup and pronounced it good, and the Bearcat, feeling embarrassed at his hesitation, waded into the food and ate everything in sight.

Babe’s appetites were always lusty and it was not till she had finished two large helpings of soup that she felt any desire to talk.

The first thing she said was:

“Honey, the more I see you the more I like you.”

“You ain’t kiddin’ me, are you?” the Bearcat asked, earnestly.

“You know I’m not. I like you better than any fellow I ever met.”

The Bearcat lowered his voice.

“Babe,” he said, “I don’t know much about girls. I suppose you think I’m a dumb guy. But I like you a lot.”

“I don’t think you’re dumb at all.” Babe rested her hand lightly on his huge paw. “No dumb guy could fight like you do.”

The Bearcat leaned forward in his chair.

“I’d like to take you out all the time, Babe,” he said. “But I want you to be my girl. I mean”—he was confused—“if you like me as much as you say, I don’t want you to bother with no other guys.”

Babe hesitated a moment.

“All right, honey,” she said then, “I won’t look at another fellow. But I got to see you every day then. I get lonesome, and I don’t want to hang around a roomin’ house alone every night.”

“Don’t worry about that,” the Bearcat said, slipping his hand over hers. “We’ll have a good time together. I don’t mean for you to be lonesome.”

When the Bearcat had left her to keep his appointment with Charlie, Babe walked along Broadway for a block or two. She smiled confidently to herself. She had got her man—got him in the palm of her hand. But while she felt a distinct pleasure at the knowledge, she was forced to admit that she had a deeper, more genuine liking for this simple, boyish fellow than that which had first motivated her when she had schemed to meet him the night of the fight. Calculatingly, she meant to make the companionship a profitable one for herself, but at the same time she planned to give the Bearcat his money’s worth in pleasure.