to your husband just why you came to my dressing room this evening—and screamed!"
At this the Bone Crusher, which seemed to have forgot the cause of the muss, straightens up again and growls, his grin freezin' into a scowl at the Kid.
"Why—of course," says Mrs. Kenney, brightly, lookin' straight into the Kid's face and speakin' to her husband. "I came down here looking for your dressing room and—er—I—entered Mister Roberts's by mistake. When I saw that I was in the wrong room it gave me such a start that—I—I just—screamed from—eh—fright—that was all! I would have explained at once, but you began fighting and I had no chance."
Woof!
"Oh—aheh—I see!" grins Kenney, with a sheepish look at the Kid.
But the Kid ain't lookin' at him. Roberts is regardin' Mrs. Kenney with open admiration. She gets a slow crimson and turns her head. Kenney looks from one to the other with a puzzled frown.
"Come on!" says the Kid to me. "I've got to do some explaining myself. Throw my stuff in the grip and we'll use Kenney's room to dress."
He went out and Kenney stands lookin' at his wife for a minute. It struck me that he seemed half pleased that she had drawed that glance from the champion, though of course the poor boob didn't know what had caused it.
"He's not a bad hombre," remarks the Bone Crusher, "and he licked me fair enough—but he ain't fooled me none with his slick talk. That feller was stuck on yuh,
