perfect and cold. The Kid is standin' there goin' red and white by turns under this silent inspection which seems to have tied his tongue up too. He had on a ragged cap, a torn and form'ly white sweater, a old, dirty pair of courduroy pants, and a pair of runnin' shoes. The lady fair's icy, glitterin' eyes takes in every detail of that outfit, and she gets further below zero with each second. One of the Kid's eyes has a little mouse under it and his left cheek bone is hid by a strip of court plaster, the result of Special Delivery Kelly's dyin' efforts. A split lip ain't had a fair chance to heal yet, and by the time this girl's gaze reached the Kid's face it was so cold I shivered where I was standin'. The Kid fin'ly pulls himself together and seems to be gulpin' out somethin', and I step away so's I won't get my ears in where they don't belong. As I do somebody slaps me on the back and snarls: "I been lookin' all over for you, you rat! You're a fine guy, you are—what d'ye mean by stealin' my fighter from me, hey?"
Dummy Carney's purplin' face is shoved over my shoulder at the auto.
"Oh, there's the big bum, hey?" he growls, and, throwin' my hands off, he walks up to the Kid and the girl. The chauffeur has changed the shoe and he looks up kinda puzzled. Kid Roberts gets a coupla shades whiter when he sees Dummy and tries to motion him away. But it's too late.
"You big stiff!" roars Carney. "You fight another guy for anybody but me and I'll run you outa New York! Foolin' around with a skirt, hey, instead of lookin' me up and—"
The sudden rush of blood was still dyein' the Kid's
