Mrs. Braddock eyed him narrowly. She was searching for the cause of
this sudden ebullience, this astounding surrender to her own views
regarding their daughter. As for Christine, she was more afraid of him
than she had been in all her life. This new mood suggested some vague,
undefinable trouble for her mother. The girl's rapidly developing
estimate of her father was taking away all the illusions she had been
innocently cherishing up to the last few weeks. To her horror, she was
beginning to look for something sinister in all that he undertook to
do or say.
Unable to face the speculative anxiety in the eyes of his wife and
child, Braddock edged off to the men's section of the tent. His
furtive, nervous glances about the small apartment escaped the notice
of the men who were changing their apparel. To his own disgust, a cold
perspiration began to ooze out all over his body--the moisture of
extreme nervousness and indecision. He took a stiff pull at his brandy
flask.
His shifting gaze ultimately rested on David Jenison's neatly
deposited clothing. The boy was in the ring. His "street-wear" lay on
a "keester" somewhat apart from the heterogeneous pile of men's
apparel on the adjacent boxes.
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