The Detroit times. [volume] (Detroit, Mich.) 1903-1920, 1913-10-09
CHAPTER WI.

Seated m one of the rustic benches,
his white tennis shoes resting against
the lower iron OF the railing. ba-
yartan dachel snooxing comfortably
across his knees, was q man OF nity.
He was broad OF shoulder, deep Oh
chest. and clean-shaven. he had iaid
aside his Panama hat. and his mar
was clipped closely, and was pleas
antly(and honorably sprinkled WIN
gray. His face was broad ana
tanned: the nose was tilted. and the
Wide mouth was both kindly and hu-
morous. One knew. from the tint OF
his blue eyes and the quirk OF his
lips. that when he spoke there would
be a bit of brogue. He was james
HarriRan, one-time celebrated In the
ring for his gameness, his sQuareness,
hia endurance; Battling Jimmie
Harrigan. who, when he encountered
, his frst Knockout, retired from the
ring. He had to his credit sixty-one
battles, of which he had easily won
forty. He had been Outpointed IN
some and had broken even In others;
but only once had he been railroad
ed into dreamland,' to use the par
lance Of the game That was enough.
He understood. Youth would be
served. and he was no longer young
He had, unlike the many In his Pc
culiar service, lived cleanly and with
\ wisdom and foresight: he had saved
both his money and his health. To
day he was at peace with the world.
with three sound appetites the day
and the wherewithal to crafty them.
True, he often dreamed OF the old
days, the roped square, the lights. the
haze OF tobacco smoke. the white
patches surrounding, all Of a certain
expectant tilt, the reporters scrib-
hing on the deal tables under the
very posts, the cheers as he took his
corner and scraped his shoes in the
powdered resin, the padded gloves
thrown down In the center OF the can.
vas which was already SCARED and
soiled by the preliminaries. But
never, never again: II only for the
little woman's sake. Only when the
game was done did he learn with
what terror and dread she had wait
ed for his return on fighting nights.
Today Battling Jimmie" was for
gotten by the public. and he was
happy In the seclusiOn OF this forget.
fulness. A new and strange career
had opened up before him; he was
the father Of the most beautiful prima
donna In the operate world, and, dit
ficult as the task was, he did his best
to live up to 1t. II was hard not TO
offer to shake hands when he was
presented to . princess or duchess:
II was hard to remember when to
change the studs in his shirt; and a
white cravat was the terror OF his
nights, for his fingers. broad and
stubby and powerful. had not been
trained to the delicate task Of tying
a bow-knot. BY judicious blow In
that spot where the ribs divaricate
he could right we'll tie his adversary
into q bow-knot, but this string OF
white lawn was q most damnable
thing. Still, the puttering Of the two
| women, their daily concern over his
department, was bringing him into
conformity with social usages. That
he naturally despised the articles OF
such q soulless faith was evident in
his constant inclination to play
hooky. One thing he rebelled against
openly, and with such hrmness that
the women did not press him too
strongly for fear of a general revolt
On no occasion, however impressive.
would he wear silk hat. Christmas
and birthdays invariably called fOTth
the gift of a silk hat, for the women
trusted that they could overcome re-
sistance by persistence. He never
said anything, but 1t was noticed that
the hotel porter, or the gardener, or
whatever masculine head (save his
own was available), came forth re-
splendent on feast-days and Sundays.
Leaning back in an iron chair. with
his shoulders resting against the
oak, was another man, altogether
different type. He was frOwning
over the pages of Bagots Italian
Lakes, and he wasn't making much
Roadway. He was italian to the core.
for all that he aped the English style
and manner. He could speak the
tongue with fuency, but he stumbled
and faltered miserably over the sound
less type His clothes had the Pic
cadilly cut, and his mustache, erst-
while waxed and militant, was crop
ned at the corners, thoroughly insu
lar He was thirty. and undeniably
handsome.
Near the fountain, on the green,
was third man. He was In the
act of folding up an easel and a camp
stool.
The tea.drinkers had gone 1t was
| time for the first bell for dinner. The
villas omnibus was toiling up the
winding road among the grape-vines.
Suddenly Harrigan tilted his head
sidewise, and the long silken ears OF
| the dachel stirred. The Italian slow
. ly closed his book and permitted his
. chair to settle on its four legs. The
artist stood up from his paint-box
. From q window In the villa came
voice; only Tilt Of melody, no
words,-half dozen bars from Mar
tina: but every delightful note went
deep into the three masculine hearts
Harrigan smiled and patted the dog
The italian scowled at the vegetable
garden directly below. The artis:
scowled at the Italian.
"Trits, Fritz; here, FRITZ"
The dog struggled In Harrigans
hands and tore himself loose He
went Gathering over the path toward
the villa and disappeared into the
doorway. Nothing could keep him
when the voice called. He was as
ardent lover as any, and far more
favored.
"Oh, you funny little dog! You
merry little dachel! Fritz, mustn't;
let go!" Silence.
The artist knew that she was cud,
| ding the DtIDuv to her heart and hia