"That's tough!" says Ptomaine Joe. "Very tough. But it's better than the way I lost, ain't it? What am I goin' to get for that brawl of mine?"
"Cut yourself a piece of cake!" I sneers. "You ought to be glad to get immunity—if you can fight, I can fly!" Then I turned to Kid Roberts. "I hope you're all cured of boxin' boys which insults girls!" I says bitterly. "If you had waited for Oliver till you was right, we"
A soft rappin' interrupts me. Ptomaine Joe opens the door and falls back with a gasp. Our visitor is no less than the cause of all the trouble—Miss Désirée Collet! She seems to of been weepin', and why shouldn't she? I presented her with a scowl, and, greatly surprised, Kid Roberts reaches for his bath: robe.
"Oh, I am so sorry I lie to you!" she says. "Quelle honte!"
"What d'ye mean you lied?" I asks, as Kid Roberts appears dumb.
"J'en suis très fachée!" says Désirée.
"That's the cat's whiskers!" I says impatiently. "Speak my talk—does this look like Paris?"
"I tol' you Monsieur Olivaire insult me," explains Désirée to the frownin' Kid, snubbin' me and dabbin' at her eyes with a inch of lace. "Zat was wrong! He says nozzing to me. I leave zat act because mon père weel not let me wear zat costume zat you no like!"
There's plenty silence for a minute, except Désirée's sobs, and then the Kid speaks up. "Why did you lie
