Piccadilly Jim | Page 9

of his health, had caused to
be constructed in a large room at the end of the house--a room designed
by the original owner, who had had artistic leanings, for a studio. The
_tap-tap-tap_ of the leather bag had ceased, but voices from within told
her that Jerry Mitchell, Mr. Pett's private physical instructor, was still
there. She wondered who was his companion, and found on opening
the door that it was Ogden. The boy was leaning against the wall and
regarding Jerry with a dull and supercilious gaze which the latter was
plainly finding it hard to bear.
"Yes, sir!" Ogden was saying, as Ann entered. "I heard Biggs asking
her to come for a joyride."
"I bet she turned him down," said Jerry Mitchell sullenly.
"I bet she didn't. Why should she? Biggs is an awful good-looking
fellow."
"What are you talking about, Ogden?" said Ann.
"I was telling him that Biggs asked Celestine to go for a ride in the car
with him."
"I'll knock his block off," muttered the incensed Jerry.
Ogden laughed derisively.
"Yes, you will! Mother would fire you if you touched him. She
wouldn't stand for having her chauffeur beaten up."
Jerry Mitchell turned an appealing face to Ann. Ogden's revelations and

especially his eulogy of Biggs' personal appearance had tormented him.
He knew that, in his wooing of Mrs. Pett's maid, Celestine, he was
handicapped by his looks, concerning which he had no illusions. No
Adonis to begin with, he had been so edited and re-edited during a long
and prosperous ring career by the gloved fists of a hundred foes that in
affairs of the heart he was obliged to rely exclusively on moral worth
and charm of manner. He belonged to the old school of fighters who
looked the part, and in these days of pugilists who resemble matinee
idols he had the appearance of an anachronism. He was a stocky man
with a round, solid head, small eyes, an undershot jaw, and a nose
which ill-treatment had reduced to a mere scenario. A narrow strip of
forehead acted as a kind of buffer-state, separating his front hair from
his eyebrows, and he bore beyond hope of concealment the badge of his
late employment, the cauliflower ear. Yet was he a man of worth and a
good citizen, and Ann had liked him from their first meeting. As for
Jerry, he worshipped Ann and would have done anything she asked him.
Ever since he had discovered that Ann was willing to listen to and
sympathise with his outpourings on the subject of his troubled wooing,
he had been her slave.
Ann came to the rescue in characteristically direct fashion.
"Get out, Ogden," she said.
Ogden tried to meet her eye mutinously, but failed. Why he should be
afraid of Ann he had never been able to understand, but it was a fact
that she was the only person of his acquaintance whom he respected.
She had a bright eye and a calm, imperious stare which never failed to
tame him.
"Why?" he muttered. "You're not my boss."
"Be quick, Ogden."
"What's the big idea--ordering a fellow--"
"And close the door gently behind you," said Ann. She turned to Jerry,
as the order was obeyed.

"Has he been bothering you, Jerry?"
Jerry Mitchell wiped his forehead.
"Say, if that kid don't quit butting in when I'm working in the
gym--You heard what he was saying about Maggie, Miss Ann?"
Celestine had been born Maggie O'Toole, a name which Mrs. Pett
stoutly refused to countenance in any maid of hers.
"Why on earth do you pay any attention to him, Jerry? You must have
seen that he was making it all up. He spends his whole time wandering
about till he finds some one he can torment, and then he enjoys himself.
Maggie would never dream of going out in the car with Biggs."
Jerry Mitchell sighed a sigh of relief.
"It's great for a fellow to have you in his corner, Miss Ann."
Ann went to the door and opened it. She looked down the passage, then,
satisfied as to its emptiness, returned to her seat.
"Jerry, I want to talk to you. I have an idea. Something I want you to do
for me."
"Yes, Miss Ann?"
"We've got to do something about that child, Ogden. He's been
worrying uncle Peter again, and I'm not going to have it. I warned him
once that, if he did it again, awful things would happen to him, but he
didn't believe me. I suppose, Jerry--what sort of a man is your friend,
Mr. Smethurst?"
"Do you mean Smithers, Miss Ann?"
"I knew it was either Smithers or Smethurst. The dog man, I mean. Is
he a man you can trust?"
"With my last buck.