first visit to the Stadium, it was then I thought of the evening as a regal occasion.
Half way through dinner, the Press arrived, and spent the rest of the meal firing off flashlights at us. It seemed Miss Shelley seldom appeared in public, and her visit to the fights was causing a major sensation.
We didn't get much chance to talk to each other during dinner, what with Press photographers, columnists and the maître d’hôtel pestering us, and in a way it was a good thing. But I could see she was getting as big a bang out of the outing as I was.
It's a funny thing, but it didn't occur to me that she was getting her bang out of being in my company. I thought she was getting it, as I was, from the fuss and attention we were receiving. It was only later that I realized it was my company that had made her so animated.
It was while we were having coffee and brandy that a big, burly, hard-faced guy in a creased grey suit, his black hair close cropped and turning a little grey at the temples, came up to our table.
He bowed to Vestal, giving her a tight little grin.
"This must be a record, Miss Shelley. You at the fights!"
I expected she would give him a cold brush off, but she seemed pretty glad to have him notice her.
"Mr. Winters persuaded me," she said, looking coyly at me. "After all, we should all try everything once." She touched my sleeve. "This is Lieutenant Sam Leggit of the City police, lieutenant, this is Mr. Winters, the banker."
That was the first time I had met Leggit and I could see right away he didn't like the look of me anymore than I liked the look of him.
"Haven't I seen you at the Pacific, Mr. Winters?" he asked, his hard grey eyes probing. Mr. Winters, the banker wasn't cutting any ice with him. He was telling me he knew I was just a clerk who could be kicked by my boss as he could be by his.
"I wouldn't know," I said indifferently. "We get a lot of traffic through the bank."
"Yeah, I guess that's right." He looked from me to Vestal and from Vestal back to me. "Glad to know you, Mr. Winters."
I didn't see why we should both tell a lie so I didn't say anything.
"I'll have a man watch those diamonds, Miss Shelley," he went on. "This joint's not all it should be. No need for you to worry." He gave her his tight little grin, nodded curtly to me and moved off into the crowd.
"So you have a cop to look after you," I said lightly.
"The Lieutenant and I are pretty good friends," she said, like a child who is claiming a general once patted her head. "I used to know him when he was on patrol. He comes to dinner sometimes and tells me about his cases."
"Must be nice for you," I said sarcastically. "Well, if you want to see the big fight, we'd better get going."
We got to our seats as the announcer was introducing the main bout of the evening. It was a fifteen round contest between Jack Slade, the middleweight champion and Darky Jones, an almost unknown challenger.
The two men were in the ring now, and Vestal was feasting her eyes on them.
I told her Slade was the favourite and asked her if she would like to make a bet.
"I'll bet on the brown man," she said. "There's something about him that fascinates me. Look at those muscles and those eyes. Of course he's going to win."
"Not a chance. Slade hasn't been knocked out in twenty fights. He's right on top of his form. Jones has a punch, but he won't get a chance to land it."
"I'll bet a hundred dollars on the brown man."
"Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you."
I pushed past a couple of dozen knees to the aisle and crossed over to where Lefty Johnson was sitting.
"Evening, Mr. Winters," he said, giving me a leering smile. "I see you're stepping high tonight."
"A hundred on Jones to win, Lefty. Okay?"
"Sure. Tired of keeping your dough, Mr. Winters?"
“Not my bet. I'll have fifty on Slade."
I just got back to my seat in time for the bell.
Jones came out of his corner as if he had been fired from a gun. There was a flurry and a brown flash, and
Half way through dinner, the Press arrived, and spent the rest of the meal firing off flashlights at us. It seemed Miss Shelley seldom appeared in public, and her visit to the fights was causing a major sensation.
We didn't get much chance to talk to each other during dinner, what with Press photographers, columnists and the maître d’hôtel pestering us, and in a way it was a good thing. But I could see she was getting as big a bang out of the outing as I was.
It's a funny thing, but it didn't occur to me that she was getting her bang out of being in my company. I thought she was getting it, as I was, from the fuss and attention we were receiving. It was only later that I realized it was my company that had made her so animated.
It was while we were having coffee and brandy that a big, burly, hard-faced guy in a creased grey suit, his black hair close cropped and turning a little grey at the temples, came up to our table.
He bowed to Vestal, giving her a tight little grin.
"This must be a record, Miss Shelley. You at the fights!"
I expected she would give him a cold brush off, but she seemed pretty glad to have him notice her.
"Mr. Winters persuaded me," she said, looking coyly at me. "After all, we should all try everything once." She touched my sleeve. "This is Lieutenant Sam Leggit of the City police, lieutenant, this is Mr. Winters, the banker."
That was the first time I had met Leggit and I could see right away he didn't like the look of me anymore than I liked the look of him.
"Haven't I seen you at the Pacific, Mr. Winters?" he asked, his hard grey eyes probing. Mr. Winters, the banker wasn't cutting any ice with him. He was telling me he knew I was just a clerk who could be kicked by my boss as he could be by his.
"I wouldn't know," I said indifferently. "We get a lot of traffic through the bank."
"Yeah, I guess that's right." He looked from me to Vestal and from Vestal back to me. "Glad to know you, Mr. Winters."
I didn't see why we should both tell a lie so I didn't say anything.
"I'll have a man watch those diamonds, Miss Shelley," he went on. "This joint's not all it should be. No need for you to worry." He gave her his tight little grin, nodded curtly to me and moved off into the crowd.
"So you have a cop to look after you," I said lightly.
"The Lieutenant and I are pretty good friends," she said, like a child who is claiming a general once patted her head. "I used to know him when he was on patrol. He comes to dinner sometimes and tells me about his cases."
"Must be nice for you," I said sarcastically. "Well, if you want to see the big fight, we'd better get going."
We got to our seats as the announcer was introducing the main bout of the evening. It was a fifteen round contest between Jack Slade, the middleweight champion and Darky Jones, an almost unknown challenger.
The two men were in the ring now, and Vestal was feasting her eyes on them.
I told her Slade was the favourite and asked her if she would like to make a bet.
"I'll bet on the brown man," she said. "There's something about him that fascinates me. Look at those muscles and those eyes. Of course he's going to win."
"Not a chance. Slade hasn't been knocked out in twenty fights. He's right on top of his form. Jones has a punch, but he won't get a chance to land it."
"I'll bet a hundred dollars on the brown man."
"Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you."
I pushed past a couple of dozen knees to the aisle and crossed over to where Lefty Johnson was sitting.
"Evening, Mr. Winters," he said, giving me a leering smile. "I see you're stepping high tonight."
"A hundred on Jones to win, Lefty. Okay?"
"Sure. Tired of keeping your dough, Mr. Winters?"
“Not my bet. I'll have fifty on Slade."
I just got back to my seat in time for the bell.
Jones came out of his corner as if he had been fired from a gun. There was a flurry and a brown flash, and
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