when he's shaken up. Tell him to try and knock me out—I want to see what he's concealing."
They boxed three two-minute rounds, goin' at it hammer and tongs, and they was a lot more action in this thing than in many's the real mill I've looked at. Gunner Enright took me at my word, and if he didn't endeavor to knock my comin' champ for a goal, then Grant didn't care whether he win the Civil War or not! The Gunner was gettin' a trifle too fast for me, and had opened up a old gash over the Kid's left eye which bled rather lavishly, when I called a halt. Right before I bawled "Time!" he staggered Roberts with a beautiful right to the head, and the Kid, thoroughly enjoyin' himself, come back with two lefts to the jaw that dropped the enthusiastic Gunner to his knees. That was ample for me, and I stopped the show. Much to my amazement, the Gunner apparently lost his head and insisted on continuin' the quarrel. He begin by pleadin' and wound up by gettin' nasty. When he hollered that he could "Bash the bleedin' Yank's fyce in!" meanin' the highly amused Kid, I paid him off and, with the kindly assistance of a couple of volunteers, throwed him out of the camp.
The night of the Kid Roberts-Bandsman Shayne fracas they closed all doors of the National Sportin' Club at half past eight. The main event wasn't due to get under way till ten, but the galleries and other seats for the middle clawsses and the etc each contained two guys a few minutes after the entrances opened at seven. This Shayne person had a followin' which can only be compared to the one Roosevelt had and they was all there to see their man give the American leather
