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 lost his head. James rose from the ground, and the Kid immediately clinched with him, askin' him did he want to call it a day before somebody got badly punished. Barnaby's answer was to grab Kid Roberts about the waist and rough him to the turf, where he fell on top of him, punchin' with both hands to the face as they struggled around there. "Tell 'at big tramp to fight fair, you bunch of yellah dogs!" screams Ptomaine, tuggin' frantically at his bonds. I was blue in the face with rage, but bein' tied hand and foot could do nothin' but yell murder!

The football players rushed over and helped both men up and Kid Roberts is so infuriated at Barnaby's foul fightin' that he ain't fit to be at large! His bare shoulder is cut and scraped from a rock he fell on, he's bleedin' freely from the mouth and blowin' like a porpoise, but if he don't want to fight, then neither does Harry Wills. I wouldn't of been Jim Barnaby right then for Rockefeller's last week's profits!

Barnaby rushed at the Kid, eager to knock him off whilst he's in the distress he so plainly showed. The air is full of advice from his team mates, who figure it's all over. James put a hard left to the Kid's sore mouth that wobbled his head, and the trusty right uppercut, catchin' Kid Roberts off his balance, floored him. He was up in a flash—was fightin' furiously again whilst the boys is still cheerin' Barnaby for the fluke. The Kid come in crouchin' this time and sent a fearful right and left to the stomach.

Barnaby began to back-pedal, but Kid Roberts followed him like fate! He sent a wicked right to Barna-