It was a week before the fight. Charlie and Bearcat had returned from eating. Charlie met some theatrical friends in the lobby and stopped to chat with them. The Bearcat went upstairs, to stretch out, he said. As the elevator was taking Bearcat up, Charlie stepped to the desk and wrote something on a sheet of stationery which he asked the clerk to hand over to the telephone girl. Then he rejoined his friends. They were a song and dance team that Charlie had known from his home town. They were just back from the coast. They had been talking Hollywood for an hour when Bearcat stepped out of the elevator in a different suit and a new tie. Charlie had purposely seated himself with his back to the elevator and desk.

The Bearcat went out the door without having seen Charlie. Charlie rose and went to the desk. The telephone girl handed him a slip of paper. Charlie glanced at it, looked at his watch, threw his cigar into a cuspidor and started for the Hotel Europe in 49th Street.

He studied the lobby of that hotel, went to the desk and said he wanted to call Miss Gordon’s room. The clerk gave him the room number. Instead of phoning, he walked up the stairs to the fifth floor and stopped before room 525. He tapped lightly on the door.

“Who is it?” It was Babe’s voice.

“Telegram,” Charlie said.

Babe opened the door. The outlines of her rounded body were revealed through an expensive Fifth Avenue negligee. She met Charlie’s eyes with a cool defensive smile.

“So, you’re a messenger boy now, Mr. Yates. You ain’t bringin’ bad news, I hope.”

“That depends on you,” said Charlie, walking to the center of the room, his eyes taking in every detail of the place.

Babe closed the door and locked it; she knew that sooner or later some kind of a show-down must be faced with Charlie. She was ready to call his bluff now.

“Well,” she said, “get it off your chest.”

He nodded his head toward two handsome gowns and an exclusive-looking hat that were laid out on the bed.

“I suppose you got that junk with Bearcat’s dough.”

“I didn’t say so,” Babe said sharply.

“You don’t have to say anythin’, I’ll do the talkin’. I know what you’re up to. And lemme tell you, sister, you’re gonna lay off the Bearcat from tonight on.”

Babe laughed.

“Says you, Mr. Yates.”

“Don’t try to be funny,” Charlie growled. His face flushed with anger and he spoke rapidly from the corner of his mouth. “Listen, you goddam three-dollar tramp, if you think I’m gonna let you make a palooka out of one of the best fighters that ever lived, you’re plain nuts. You’re quittin’ the Bearcat tonight, get me?”

Babe’s eyes narrowed. “Say, you—!”