—ah—cuckoo had pulled on us! Knowin' we'd never seen the Bandsman, he sends his man up to train for this championship battle with the very man he's gonna fight! A instant's thought will show the dummest bimbo in captivity the priceless advantages Bandsman Shayne win for himself by this raw trick. He's worked out every day with the guy he's gonna face in the ring for the real muss. He's apparently learned every punch, every trick, and every weakness of his comin' versus, whilst at the same time, by skillful fakin' of his own work, he's gave away no information of value on himself. He's givin' us about two minutes to shift our carefully rehearsed and long-planned scheme of battle and he's grabbed off a powerful asset in the moral blow this last-minute discovery handed the Kid, which walked slowly back to his corner waitin' the openin' gong, every muscle doin' a dance, his teeth fastened in his lower lip and his face whiter than eight dollars' worth of cream. They wasn't a dozen guys around that ring which after one searchin' glance wouldn't of bet fifty to one Kid Roberts didn't last a round with the laughin', jokin', and supremely confident Bandsman Shayne. Before I could rouse myself and make a last desperate protest to have the mill called off, the old cowbell rung out.
They hadn't exchanged three wallops before I seen we was in for a rough evenin', if not for crushing defeat! This Bandsman Shayne was a fighter and the Kid was wilder than a Borneo circus attraction. In his desire to end matters at once, Roberts missed a half dozen leads, and the smilin' Bandsman peppered
