fought for pennies in their lives but could make things interestin' if they had to for any of our champs from fly-weight to heavy—as many's the professional leather pusher has found out!
One mornin' Kid Roberts and Young Hamilton is rehearsin' this fight scene with Van Dyke dancin' around 'em bellerin' for action and screamin' that they're mixin' it like a pair of room-mates, when suddenly the little director stops in disgust and calls it off for the day. I thought the boys was goin' unusually good, but Van Dyke wanted a murder. As the Kid passes me on the ways to the shower, I notice a small lump on his right cheek bone and, in some surprise, I remarked on it.
"This fellow is tough!" grins the Kid, noddin' over his shoulder at Hamilton. Van Dyke grabs his arm.
"Look here!" he says, lowerin' his voice. "There's no use of us wastin' time and money rehearsin' this thing any longer. I'm gonna shoot the fight scene in a couple of days, and when I give you the office I want you to knock Hamilton stiff—get me? No fakin' this time, understand; let him have it! It ain't gonna kill him and he's gettin' well paid for it. I'll get a coupla good shots out of the thing, anyways!"
The Kid shakes the hand off his arm and regards him coldly.
"You're a poor judge of type, Van Dyke," he says. "Of course, I will do nothing of the sort!"
Van Dyke give a short, nasty little laugh as the Kid passes on.
"Nevertheless," he says, presentin' me with a funny look. "Nevertheless, he's gonna knock Hamilton out!"
