going up to his hotel to thrash him within an inch of his life!"
Sweet Mamma—he talks about thrashin' the heavyweight champ like you'd talk about thrashin' wheat!
"You're dizzy!" I says. "Quit actin' like a schoolboy and be yourself. If—"
A slam of the door cuts me off and likewise leaves me alone!
Well, of course, there's nothin' left for me to do but bound after him, and I'm on his heels when he pulls up outside Oliver's suite at the Hotel Ephant. A ferocious drummin' on the door makes it open with Red Young, the champ's manager, at the knob, whilst I'm still frantically tryin' to cool the Kid off.
If Red didn't look surprised when he seen that me and Kid Roberts was his callers, then neither did Balboa look surprised when he seen the Pacific.
"Hey, you guys wants to be more careful," says Red in alarm, after his first amazed gasp, "if you want to do business with me and the champ, we got to be under cover, otherwise when we fight you the yokels will be hep that it's framed!"
"There'll be no frame about this fight!" says Kid Roberts grimly, shovin' Red aside. "Where's Oliver?"
Then the fun began!
The heavyweight champ come saunterin' in from another room where he'd been entertainin' the usual mob of yes men which hangs around a champion of—anything. Oliver looked astounded when he seen Kid Roberts glarin' at him, but he looked even more astounded when the Kid broke away from me and shot a
