Larry had always taken pleasure in keeping his
body fit. He had not cared for the gymnasiums of the ward clubs where
he would have been welcome; in them there had been too much rough
horseplay and foulness of mouth, and such had always been offensive to
him. And though he had ever looked the gentleman, he had known that
the New York Athletic Club and other similar clubs were not for him;
they pried a bit too much into a candidate's social and professional
standing. So he had turned to a club where really searching inquiries
were rarely made; for years he had belonged to a branch of the
Y.M.C.A. located just off Broadway, and had played handball and boxed
with chunky, slow-footed city detectives who were struggling to retain
some physical activity, and with fat playwrights, and with Jewish
theatrical managers, and with the few authentic Christians who
occasionally strayed into the place and seemed ill at ease therein. He
had liked this club for another reason; his sense of humor had often
been highly excited by the thought of his being a member of the
Y.M.C.A.
Having this instinct for physical fitness, he had not greatly minded
being a coal-passer during the greater part of his stay at Sing Sing;
better that than working in the knitting mills; so that now, though
underfed and under weight, he was active and hard-muscled.
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