$25,000 purse to be split 60-40 and the wire also says that the matchmaker of the club, with Tiger Capato's manager, will meet me at the Claridge in a couple of days, to post appearance forfeits, sign articles, and the like.
I went down to the Claridge, as advertised, and asked for the matchmaker, bein' immediately escorted to a dead fall on the third floor. I just missed qualifying for the morgue when the door is opened by no less than the only enemy Kid Roberts had in the wide, wide world, to wit, Dummy Carney!
The way that baby kept on top of us from the time he first laid a eye on Roberts and started him pushin' leather, till the Kid made his pile and quit, was somethin' remarkable! Dummy couldn't forgive himself for lettin' the Kid get away from him, and he swore he'd never stop tryin' till a scrapper from his stable knocked my infant prodigy cold. Now he stood there with a twisted smile on his thick lips and them beady eyes of his enjoyin' my amazement to the last inch.
Before I can let out a bleat, he grabs me by the arm and yanks me into the room.
"Where's the Kid?" he whispers hoarsely, lookin' around.
"Doin' some road work," I says, still up to my ears in astonishment. "What are you doin' here? Where's Capato's manager and—"
Dummy closes the door and grins. "He's here," he says. "Sit down and take a load off your feet."
"Look here, Dummy," I says, facin' him. "This here's got a wrong look to me! I come here to sign articles with Capato's manager, not to—"
