It had become a joke at the University Club that Bruce, who was looked upon as an industrious young man, gave so much time to Shepherd Mills. There was a doglike fidelity in Shep’s devotion that would have been amusing if it hadn’t been pathetic. Bud Henderson said that Shep trotted around after Bruce like a lame fox terrier that had attached itself to an Airedale for protection. Shep, inspired perhaps by Bruce’s example, or to have an excuse for meeting him, had taken up handball. As the winter wore on this brought them together once or twice a week at the Athletic Club. One afternoon in March they had played their game and had their shower and were in the locker room dressing. Two other men came in a few minutes later and, concealed by the lockers, began talking in low tones. Their voices rose until they were audible over half the room. Bruce began to hear names--first Whitford’s, then unmistakably Constance Mills was referred to. Shep raised his head as he caught his wife’s name. One of the voices was unmistakably that of Morton Walters, a young man with an unpleasant reputation as a gossip. Bruce dropped a shoe to warn the men that they were not alone in the room. But Walters continued, and in a moment a harsh laugh preluded the remark: “Well, George takes his pleasure where he finds it. But if I were Shep Mills I certainly wouldn’t stand for it!” Shep jumped up and started for the aisle, but Bruce stepped in front of him and walked round to where Walters and a friend Bruce didn’t know were standing before their lockers. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Walters, but may I remind you that this is a gentleman’s club?” “Well, no; you may not!” Walters retorted hotly. He advanced toward Bruce, his eyes blazing wrathfully. The men, half clothed, eyed each other for a moment. “We don’t speak of women in this club as you’ve been doing,” said Bruce. “I’m merely asking you to be a little more careful.” “Oh, you’re criticizing my manners, are you?” flared Walters. “Yes; that’s what I’m doing. They’re offensive. My opinion of you is that you’re a contemptible blackguard!” “Then that for your opinion!” Walters sprang forward and dealt Bruce a ringing slap in the face. Instantly both had their fists up. Walters’s companion grasped him by the arm, begging him to be quiet, but he flung him off and moved toward Bruce aggressively. They sparred for a moment warily; then Walters landed a blow on Bruce’s shoulder. “So you’re Mrs. Mills’s champion, are you?” he sneered.