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 myself and the Kid's entire camp went down hook, line and sinker on the champion to win by a knockout. In the case of Ptomaine and the handlers, they bet all the sugar they got for helpin' Kid Roberts train, figurin' the Guardsman a spread for the champ, burn hand or not!

Election Day, the day of the combat, dawned bright and clear, forecastin' the record crowd which was to see one of the greatest glove contests ever fought for a world's championship. Even the most calloused, case-hardened fan was breathless, hoarse and tremblin' when he milled his way out of the arena that afternoon, I'll inform the globe!

As usual, Ptomaine tried his best to gum matters up and nearly succeeded. Early in the mornin' he vanished from the camp and the next I heard from him was by the via of a phone call around noon. The call come from a police station. I rushed down and found this half-wit in a cell, battered and gloomy. He looked like a total loss!

"How come?" I asked him angrily.

"Creepin' mackerel, what a break I got!" says Ptomaine, gingerly feelin' a bump on his bean, "I had a heavy date with Hilda this mornin' and wishin' to put on a little dog I took her for a taxi ride. 'At went over fine, but when the fatal time to pay off comes rollin' around, I find I ain't got a thin dime on me—I left my dough in my other coat, get me? Well, I asked Hilda to stake me to twenty bucks; the bill was nineteen ninety and I naturally wished to tip the chauffeur—a fool and his money is soon parted!