That outlook had ever been cheerful, with the cheerfulness which comes of taking life in twenty-four-hour doses only, and of looking not too far ahead and backward not at all.  Plenty of persons live after that fashion and thereby attain middle life with smooth foreheads and cheeks unlined by thought; and Ford was therefore not much different from his fellows.  Never before had he found himself with anything worse than bodily bruises to sour life for him after a tumultuous night or two in town, and the sensation of a discomfort which had not sprung from some well-defined physical sense was therefore sufficiently novel to claim all his attention.

It was not the first time he had fought and forgotten it afterwards.  Nor was it a new experience for him to seek information from his friends after a night full of incident.  Sandy he had always found tolerably reliable, because Sandy, being of that inquisitive nature so common to small persons, made it a point to see everything there was to be seen; and his peculiar digestive organs might be counted upon to keep him sober.  It was a real grievance to Ford that Sandy should have chosen the hour he did for indulging in such trivialities as hair-cuts and shampoos, while events of real importance were permitted to transpire unseen and unrecorded.  Ford, when the grievance thrust itself keenly upon him, roused the recreant Sandy by pitilessly thrusting an elbow against his diaphragm.

Sandy grunted at the impact and sat bolt upright in bed before he was fairly awake.  He glanced reproachfully down at Ford, who stared back at him from a badly crumpled pillow.

“Get up,” growled Ford, “and start a fire going, darn you.  You kept me awake half the night, snoring.  I want a beefsteak with mushrooms, devilled kidneys, waffles with honey, and four banana fritters for breakfast.  I’ll take it in bed; and while I’m waiting, you can bring me the morning paper and a package of Egyptian Houris.”

Sandy grunted again, slid reluctantly out into the bitterly cold room, and crept shivering into his clothes.  He never quite understood Ford’s sense of humor, at such times, but he had learned that it is more comfortable to crawl out of bed than to be kicked out, and that vituperation is a mere waste of time when matched against sheer heartlessness and a superior muscular development.

“Y’ ought to make your wife build the fires,” he taunted, when he was clothed and at a safe distance from the bed.  He ducked instinctively afterwards, but Ford was merely placing a match by itself on the bench close by.

“That’s one,” Ford remarked calmly.  “I’m going to thrash every misguided humorist who mentions that subject to me in anything but a helpful spirit of pure friendship.  I’m going to give him a separate licking for every alleged joke.  I’ll want two steaks, Sandy.  I’ll likely have to give you about seven distinct wallopings.  Hand me some more matches to keep tally with.  I don’t want to cheat you out of your just dues.”