From the way that kid acted you'd have
thought he'd been spending the last year in a training-camp. The other
kid rolled him over, but he come up again as if that was just the sort
of stuff he liked, and pretty soon I see that he's uncovered a yellow
streak in the Whiting kid as big as a barn door. You were on it,
weren't you, colonel?"
But the White Hope had no remarks to offer this time. His head had
fallen forward and was resting peacefully in his grapefruit.
"He's asleep," said Mamie.
She picked him up gently and carried him out.
"He's a champeen at that too," said Steve. "I had to pull him out of
the hay this morning. Well, I guess he's earned it. He's had a busy
day."
"What happened then, Steve?"
"Why, after that there wasn't a thing to it. Whiting, poor simp,
couldn't see it. 'Betcha ten dollars my kid wins,' he hollers. 'He's
got him going.' 'Take you,' I shouts; and at that moment the scrappy
kid sees it's all over, so he does the old business of fouling, same as
his pop done when he fought Tommy King. It's in the blood, I guess. He
takes and scratches poor Bill on the cheek."
"That was enough for me. I jumps in. 'All over,' I says. 'My kid wins
on a foul.' 'Foul nothing,' says Whiting. 'It was an accident, and you
lose because you jumped into the fight, same as Connie McVey did when
Corbett fought Sharkey.
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