one syllable of advice from you, he'll become a bum!"
Well, as the French says: "Kappa Delta Omega Tau!" hey?
The Kid didn't fight Dynamite Jackson the next night, but they did crawl through the ropes before either ten or thirty-six thousand maniacs about two weeks later. I'll say this Ethiopium was good! For three rounds he toyed with the cautious Roberts till none of the crowd could speak above a whisper and most of 'em wanted the Kid's life. In Round Four, under my orders, the Kid took off the wraps and murdered all the bugs with weak hearts by droppin' Jackson twice. In Round Five they stalled some more and drawed a hat and program shower from the cuckoos in the gallery. The sixth innin' was a wow! They both come out to end it with a punch, and, boy, it was pretty. Both could hit and both could take it, and that's what happened. This dinge fought like his life depended on every wallop, and right at the bell he connected with a terrific smash to the body that floored the Kid in his own corner. It took some scientific work to bring hin: around, and when he opened his eyes he pushed me away from the reddened side I was anxiously kneadin'. His face was a pasty gray.
"Don't rub that, you ass," he groans through set teeth. "He's broken one of my ribs!"
O sole mio!
I motioned for the referee.
"If you stop this, I'll kill you!" snarls Roberts,
