"If—if Joe couldn't appear—out there—the bets would be off, wouldn't they?" she breathes.
I nodded.
Then—Sweet Mamma, listen!
The soft brown eyes turns hard and glitterin'. She suddenly bangs the door shut, turns the key, and lets out a ear-splittin' shriek! Almost on the instant it seemed to me, a bull's beller boomed in the hall, the door rattles, and—smash! Flounderin', sprawlin', hysterically cursin', Joe Kenney crashed through the crumbled door into the room.
Like the Kid, Kenney was in ring togs minus the gloves, a roll of soft bandage still danglin' from one hand. For a second he peered around the dressin' room like a guy walkin' from the dark into a brilliantlly lighted hall. His little, flamin' red eyes passed over me on to his chalk-faced wife which stood silent against the wall, her face turned away from the amazed stare of the Kid.
I grabbed her arm and shook it, pointin' frantically to Kenney—tryin' to show her by signs to say somethin', explain the thing to her husband. For some reason, I couldn't talk, though my lips worked enough! She hung her head and said nothin'. With a roarin' curse, the Bone Crusher got me by the waist and throwed me the length of the room. I fell sprawlin' in a corner and then, whilst the mob waited impatiently upstairs for the world's champion and his cowboy challenger to climb through the ropes for a two-round, gentlemanly sparrin' exhibition, they fought in the dressin' room the bloodiest, most sensational battle that I, you, or anybody else ever was privileged to see and they
