Anthony Fry heaved a great, shaky sigh and stood back. It had not happened that time. David's wig was still in place, and David was still David. Yet, all other things apart, what if David's wig had slipped? What if, during the thirty or forty years he still had to live, Anthony must have cut out Johnson Boller's really stimulating friendship, or have listened, day in and day out, night in and night out, at every meeting and on every sly occasion, to a recital of what had happened this morning? The strain was really growing too much. Johnson Boller would have to get out of here now and--although why was Johnson Boller smiling so sweetly? "Quite a little boxer, kid, aren't you?" he was asking in the most friendly fashion. "I've boxed with my brother," David said. "Made a study of it, eh?" "So-so," said David. They were going to have a little conversation now, which gave Anthony a minute or two for thought. First he would get Johnson Boller out of here on the plea that it was time to dress; then he would have David's man-clothes brought, and, in one way or another, he would persuade David to don them. It could be worked, the calmer Anthony assured himself, and then-- "Well, if you're inclined that way, there's nothing like keeping in shape for it," Mr. Boller was saying as he fumbled at the knot of his bathrobe. "I'll show you my back muscles and then show you how----" "_Johnson!_" Anthony exploded. "Well, what in the name of common sense is the matter with you?" Mr. Boller cried. "I--that is to say, David--your confounded back muscles don't interest him, Johnson. Not one particle! Do they, David?" "Not a bit!" David said faintly from the corner toward which he was backing. "So let this physical-training rot rest!" cried the master of the apartment. "Go and dress and----" "My dear fellow," Johnson Boller broke in mildly, "you are, so far as physical training goes, a nice old lady. But for Heaven's sake, if you're going to keep this boy, don't try to bring him up along similar lines. Go look over your bean-pole anatomy, and you'll need no further argument. This kid is young and supple, and fit to be whacked into a real man and--say, get out of here for fifteen minutes, Anthony, will you?" "Why?" "I'm going to strip this youngster and look him over, and then start him on the right track," Mr. Boller said with an unconscious and affectionate glance at his fist. "Mr. Fry!" gasped David. "Well, has this mollycoddle stuff in the air infected you, too?" Johnson Boller asked tartly. "Don't you want to be a man?" "No!" Johnson Boller laughed scornfully. "Anthony, I think your presence is a bad influence," he said. "Will you please get out of here? Shed that bathrobe, kid, and let's see if there's anything to you but pulp!" "No!" said David. "Well, I say yes, and I say it for your own good!" Johnson Boller said firmly as he advanced. "I'm going to make a man of you!" "You can't!" said David thinly.