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 to me disgustedly: "I got fifty bucks on Ford, but I hope Kid Roberts murders the big yellow hound. If he had half the Kid's heart, we'd been home long ago!"

Spurred on by the jeers of the mob, Ford half-heartedly led with his left, but the Kid wasn't there. He feinted with his right and Kid Roberts smashed him on the mouth with a left and then down below with a right. Oh, that crowd—I can hear 'em yet! It was Ford which was now clinchin' for his life at every chance, and when he staggered to his corner at the end of the round his face was a red blur. The house never let up hollerin' durin' the rest and for the first time since the thing started, Kid Roberts is grinnin' at me and Ptomaine. Kid Roberts's round.

"Boys," he pants, "this fellow doesn't like it!"

"I'll give him four more rounds and 'at's all!" says Ptomaine gleefully, massagin' the Kid's heavin' stomach.

"I'll give him three!" says Jimmy de Long, workin' on the Kid's neck.

"I'll give him two!" I chimes in, with the ammonia under my boy's nose.

"And I'll give him one!" says the Kid, his one good eye glitterin'. A fightin' fool, what?

Both come up fairly fresh for the sixth. Ford tried his old reliable left again, but was short when the Kid rolled his head with the punch and Ford took a right cross to the jaw in return that staggered him. He got inside the Kid's next lead and clinched, wrestlin' Rob-