feit up to meet the winner of the Enright-McCabe fight, and Enright won—don't forget that."
"That's out, now," I says. "Enright will be on his way up the river in another month and—"
"Look here," he butts in. "I've thought this all over. How can you prove that he deliberately killed McCabe? Apparently nobody saw that rabbit punch but yourself."
That was it—how could I prove it?
"Listen to me," says the Kid after a minute. "There's nothing we can do about this but to keep quiet. We'll go down to-morrow and sign articles with Enright. They say I'm a moving-picture champion, eh? Well, you get me Enright, and I'll make him wish he'd never laid eyes on a boxing glove!"
"Hey, look here," I says, pretendin' to frown. "D'ye know you're gettin' terrible tough lately? I never heard you do no ballyhooin' about yourself before. What's the idea?"
Instantly he's embarrassed as a chorus girl without a telephone.
"Forgive me, old man," he says. "I can imagine how that must sound. I'll need two years in a finishing school after I quit this game before I'll dare attempt a drawing room!" Then he grins: "Say—it wouid be rich if Enright knocked me out, wouldn't it?"
You see what a kid he was.
Well, of course they didn't hold Enright for McCabe's death. Unavoidable accident and the like, and columns was wrote showin' they is eighty-six times
