middle of the jungle! I wired Dummy Carney "Sold!" grabbed the Bearcat, and lammed for Cleveland. On the en route the sacrifice wants to know how much they is in this fracas for him. Up to that time the Bearcat had the idea that the only guys in the world which eat regular was Al Vanderbilt and Jack Rockefeller.
"Well," I says, "you oughta grab about three hundred men for your end. That's if you can keep from kissin' the rosin for a coupla rounds. But, of course, they is no use speakin' of the impossible!"
"Three hundred for me?" he hollers, leapin' up in the seat. "Say—who am I gonna fight, the Marines?"
"Look here, stupid," I says. "Never mind worryin' about who you're gonna battle—you don't see it botherin' me, do you? You're the most selfish guy I ever heard tell of! I gotta be sittin' up night and day gettin' tramps for you to trim, wearin' my fingers to the bone signin' contracts, gettin' a occasional line of hooch about you in the papers, and the etc., and all you gotta do is put on a pair of nice white trunks, step through the ropes, take a pastin', and get paid off. Pretty soft for you! Suppose I had signed you to fight the Marines—as long as you get the sugar, what do you care?"
"All right," he grins, pattin' me on the shoulder, "don't get sore. Tell them babies they gotta leave their bay'nets in the dressin' room and I'll take a chance!"
Dummy Carney met me at the train in Cleveland and gimme the works. One-Punch Loughlin was
