Kennedy reaches over suddenly and grabs Kid Roberts by the wrist, jerkin' the arm down hard. A old stunt of gettin' a fighter's goat, right on the verge of the openin' bell.
"I'll make you yell for the cops, you bum!" he snarls. "I knocked you in a round before—well, to-night I'm gonna make you stay and like it. I'll cut you to pieces, you pink-cheeked quitter!"
Quick as a flash, the Kid shoots up his left hand, and with the heel of the glove rubs Kennedy's hair all over his bullet head, mussin' it up.
"Shut up, you big stiff!" he comes back. "When they cart you away from here in a couple of minutes, you'll have to go back driving a truck!"
Sweet Papa—I could of kissed him!
Kennedy jumped back with a surprised grunt, and the amazed referee pushes 'em apart. The crowd, seenin' this unusual byplay, rocked the buildin', and the din was so terrible I don't believe six guys heard the bell.
Kennedy come out with a rush, and the Kid brought him up short with a beautiful left uppercut that almost tore his head off. They mixed like a coupla wildcats in the middle of the ring, neither havin' a advantage and both fightin' at a pace that meant curtains in short order for somebody. The referee split 'em up, and on the break Kennedy swung a vicious right that missed by inches, for which he was warned by the referee and hissed by the howlin' mob. The Kid grinned and put a left and right to the head, but a instant later Kennedy staggered him with a wicked chop to the jaw and a overhand right to the face that
