wildered Macy with a sparrin' lesson, let the Gunner crack him to show the sharps he could take it, and flitted about the ring like a startled ghost till twice the Gunner fell on his ear from throwin' wallops at Pierce that missed by fractions of a inch. Why, this baby was clever enough to of boxed ten rounds under a needle shower and never get hit by a drop of water, and oh, how he could sock! A curvin' round-armed right swing twenty seconds after the start of the third round sent Gunner Macy to dreamland and the customers went home swearin' they'd see the Kid Roberts-Knockout Pierce quarrel if it was staged on Mars.
Well, at that, it would of been well worth the trip!
A week or so after this a big show is put on at a theatre in the land of Newark, N. J., for the benefit of Thirsty Timbuctoo, Starvin' Siberia, Hungry Hungary, or Sufferin' Sebastopol. I forget now which one of our League of Poor Relations was goin' to get this jack. Anyways the Kid dropped everything, as he always did to help any charity, and appeared on the bill in a exhibition with a sparrin' partner.
I was sittin' in his dressin' room waitin' for him to come off, when the guy which keeps the yokels away from the stage door comes in and hands me a card. It says like this:
Joan Stillwell
The Newark Evening Yell
A woman sport writer is a bit new, I thinks. Still and all, I have never been no ladies' man—in fact I
