and the Kid was beginnin' to like, was changed from a good guy to a nasty, grand-stand playin', insultin' fathead which wasn't cured till—but wait!
Into the ring where a little while before Kid Roberts and Hamilton had been rehearsin' their phony fight climbs Nada's boy friend and Knockout Burns. Carpenters, camera men, supers, electricians, and what not dropped what ever they was doin', of course, and crowded around 'em, and they was plenty more come a runnin' from all parts of the lot. Nada, how the so ever, took the air.
Well, I figured here was a good opportunity to see what Hamilton—really had and just how much of a chance the Kid was takin' with him. Knockout Burns was a tough old battle-scarred veteran of hundreds of gory mêlées. He packed a wicked right and had stopped a lot of good men before Kid Roberts cut him short with a one-round knockout on the champ's way to the top. I decided I'd stop the bout the first time Hamilton looked in trouble, as I didn't want the young man punished by anybody connected with us. With that in mind, I hopped over the ropes and asked 'em both if they was any objection to me refereein'. Knockout laughed, and Hamilton, after a glance at me which was very brief but likewise very penetratin', shrugs his shoulders and says it was O. K. with him.
Van Dyke, chargin' into the ring with a gang of huskies, stopped the fight in the second round whilst I was tollin' off the fatal seconds over a dazed and battered heavyweight, which, restin' on one knee,
