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 in'ly enjoyin' his inward convulsions of rage. The Kid measures the distance to the beach with a speculative eye. With a snap, his watch closes and goes in his sweater pocket. The sweater comes flyin' off over his head and lands in my face. He bends down, swiftly sheds his shoes and socks, runs to the bow of the boat, and before either me or Diana can rise he's overboard in a graceful dive which barely made a splash!

Well, it was a good three miles against a brisk wind in a choppy sea to the shore, and Kid Roberts was not clothed for no endurance swim. He hadn't gone half the distance when Diana, watchin' him through marine glasses, lets forth a little cry, and I snatched the glasses from her tremblin' hands. Peerin' through 'em, it was a minute or more before I could locate the Kid's bobbin' head in the high-runnin', whitecapped waves, and when I did I yelled murder. Kid Roberts, either seized with cramps or exhausted from the tough goin', was fightin' for his life!

Sick with fear and horror, I turned on Diana, and what I told that young woman I bet she'll often recall without pleasure. She wilted under my tongue lashin', but quickly recovered and dashed into the cabin of the boat. When she come out she's draggin' along a container of gasoline. Whilst I frantically poured it in the tank, wonderin' why my temper didn't explode it, she tearfully explained that she'd disabled the boat purposely to keep Kid Roberts from showin' up at the fight in case he decided to disregard my agreement with Toledo Eddie Hicks, which is just what he done. She'd found it hard to believe that Kid