opened up a old cut under the Kid's eye. The gore blinded him, and Kennedy roughed him to the ropes, workin' both hands to the body and face like a madman. It looked bad for the Kid, and the crowd went hysterical when Roberts suddenly straightened up and drove Kennedy back on his heels with two short chops to the jaw and a right and left uppercut to the same place. Kennedy looked scared and begin to tin-can around the ring with the Kid chasin' him and tryin' desperately to polish him off. He fin'ly pinned him in a neutral corner and they stood toe to toe and slugged till they wasn't a guy in the clubhouse with any voice or sense left. It was a cinch one of 'em must flop, and Kennedy was the first one to go. He pitched forward on his face, took a count of "nine," and come up a sorry-lookin' sight. One eye was closed, and the rest of his face was a crimson blur. He tried to dive into a clinch, but the Kid shook him off and sprawled him in a heap with a terrific right to the jaw. The referee had reached "eight" without a flicker of a muscle from Kennedy, when the bell rung.
Kid Roberts skipped to his corner grinnin' like a schoolboy on Xmas mornin' and wavin' a glove at the frenzied crowd. Outside of the cut under one eye, which I paid a lot of attention to durin' the rest, there wasn't a mark on him.
"I've got him!" he pants, whilst I'm dousin' him with water. "He'll never last out the next round!"
"Shut up, don't talk!" I growls. "Save your wind. They ain't never out till they're counted out!"
Kennedy was slow in gettin' off his stool for the
