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 droppin' the pulleys, "I don't have to jump when you snap your fingers. Talk that way to them bums around here—not to me!"

I let that pass.

"Readyin' for a fight yourself?" I asks, whilst'm lacin' on his gloves.

"None of your damned business!" says Frankie, lookin' up murderously at Kid Roberts, which is skippin' rope in the ring to keep warm. I tied the laces on the gloves and pulled out my watch.

"Don't get too giddy in there to-day, Frankie," I says quietly in his ear, "I'm wise to you and so's Kid Roberts. I'm only tryin' to save you a lot of grief! The Kid's been under wraps with you and you know it. He ain't never yet let you have it—that's why you been thinkin' you're good. You start any punches lower than the belt and you'll go out of here with a broken jaw!"

Frankie's answer is to kick over the stool and walk out to the center of the ring, waitin' for the bell. I rung it.

"Hello, Frankie!" says Kid Roberts, pleasantly, and stuck out his glove to shake.

That was the end of all conversation till a minute and a half later, at which point Kid Roberts made his next remark. It was a pantin', "Do you suppose he suddenly went insane?"

I suppose Frankie did, only not suddenly—this big mock turtle had been that way for days! Ignorin' the Kid's proffered handshake, Frankie let a left go from somewheres near his ankle, aimin' it for the Kid's