ropes cautiously, showin' a beautiful defense for the Kid's determined efforts to hook his right to the jaw. They fiddled around for a minute, each tryin' to connect with one solid smash that would finish it, and then Shayne worked close, leanin' his entire weight on the Kid so's to get the full advantage of that extry seventeen pounds weight. In response to my frenzied yells which caused amazed stares from the ringsiders, Roberts fought himself free and drove Shayne to the ropes with a hurricane of rights and lefts to the head and face. A left swing buried the Kid's glove to the wrist in the Bandsman's short ribs and gaspin', the champ begin to wilt. Roberts feinted swiftly with the same left and then crossed his right to the mouth, bringin' a stream of crimson as the Bandsman begin to tin-can desperately around the ring. Pinned in his own corner, the English mauler showed he was a ring general by pretendin' to be dazed and groggy and slumpin' back against the ropes. The Kid fell for it, and, as he sprang in to finish him, Shayne suddenly straightened up and drove Roberts back on his heels with a perfectly timed right hook, followin' that with four stingin' jabs to the mouth with his left before the astonished Kid could set. It looked like anybody's fight, and they was toe to toe exchangin' wallops at the bell.
The second the Kid is on his stool I am yellin' into his ear; "What's that guy suckin' his lips in for, d'ye know? I been watchin' him all through this round and he keeps puckerin' up like he had somethin' in his mouth. What is it?"
