you of your last coupla quarrels. I'd particularly crave one of the fight with Soldier Gorman at St. Paul—a picture of our meek little college boy gettin' floored in Round One, tearin' out of my arms for Round Two, standin' toe to toe with this near gorilla Gorman, which stood up to it to the extent of fracturin' one of your ribs before he went out cold, whilst teacher's pet, which hates to strike anybody, crouched over him pantin', bloody and snarlin', till I had to drag him back to his little corner! You sick of the game? Kid, prize fightin' is your dish, and a flash at your face when you get hurt tells that part of it to the world!"
He suddenly quit shavin' and swung around on me, with the razor still poised in the air and his face flamin' as red as a oil-well fire where it wasn't lathered. Then that give way to a worried look, as he leaned back against the bureau and laid down the razor.
"Gad!" he says. "Is that a fact? I seem to enjoy this beastly business?"
"Oh, easily that!" I chuckles. "You have took to pushin' leather like Theda Bara took to a camera. And another thing, Kid, you have become one tough baby—praise be Allah! When you're in there tryin' these days, the way you go about your job would make the wildest guy in Borneo swoon away with pure fright!"
Hidin' behind another blush, the Kid give vent to a disgusted little shiver, looks at me kinda funny, and then takes a long view of himself in the mirror, like's he's mullin' over in his mind what I have just told him.
