Then he took the big bowl of rice and a pair of chop-sticks, put the chop-sticks first into his mouth, then into the rice, and passed the bowl round the table. Rice was generally declined, but the party tried eating the chop suey with their bamboo sticks. The prize-fighter managed his deftly, and endeavoured to instruct the others.
"You've got 'em by the wrong end, see? Hold 'em so," he said to Alice.
She persisted in her own way, however, and he said with indifference:
"All right, Sis, what you don't know won't hurt you."
Then, on Erhart's lead, he began to talk about a recent prize-fight. Erhart described to the rest of them, with æsthetic enthusiasm, the marvellous effect of the pink bodies of the men, seen through a cloud of dust; and the ex-professional listened cynically.
"I'm going to model Young, the light-weight," exclaimed Erhart. "I got him to promise to pose for me. I can do a bully thing of the fighter!"
"What's the good of that?" demanded the other. "If you want to make a statoo, you'd ought to take the champion. You make a good likeness of him, and I tell you, young feller, every saloon in the country'd take a copy. You don't know your own business."
