"Don't let me catch you around my wood-pile, that's all," he
threatened. "My wood-pile is my castle, and you've got to
understand that."
From a financial standpoint, Saxon and Billy were putting aside
much money. They paid no rent, their simple living was cheap, and
Billy had all the work he cared to accept. The various members of
the crowd seemed in a conspiracy to keep him busy. It was all odd
jobs, but he preferred it so, for it enabled him to suit his time
to Jim Hazard's. Each day they boxed and took a long swim through
the surf. When Hazard finished his morning's writing, he would
whoop through the pines to Billy, who dropped whatever work he
was doing. After the swim, they would take a fresh shower at
Hazard's house, rub each other down in training camp style, and
be ready for the noon meal. In the afternoon Hazard returned to
his desk, and Billy to his outdoor work, although, still later,
they often met for a few miles' run over the hills. Training was
a matter of habit to both men. Hazard, when he had finished with
seven years of football, knowing the dire death that awaits the
big-muscled athlete who ceases training abruptly, had been
compelled to keep it up. Not only was it a necessity, but he had
grown to like it. Billy also liked it, for he took great delight
in the silk of his body.
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