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 to me with his club like I'm something the cat dragged in. I commence to get steamed myself.

"The idea is that Galen and myself are about to play a round of golf," says Spence coldly. "Any objections?"

Rags gives a whinny of rage. "I should say I have an objection!" he snaps, his piggy little eyes glaring at me, though he speaks to Spence. "I shall see that the house committee is immediately notified of this fellow's presence here. This is a gentleman's club, not a training camp for prize fighters!"

Before Spence can play a card. I climbed into the breech.

"Be yourself, you false alarm!" I says, stepping over to Rags and returning his glare with usurious interest. "Just because I been letting you push me around all this time without giving you a smacking, don't get the idea that things is going on this way forever. Some day I will take a wallop at you and everything I owe you for all you've ever did to me will be in that one punch!"

"And—eh—he's light-heavyweight champion, Rags," remarks Spence, with a grin.

Rags looks thoughtful indeed and moves away, growling under his breath like all hounds does.

Well, me and Spence ties into this golf. Spence puts his ball on the tea, takes a couple of practice swings, and then—blam! He hits what would of been at least one home run in any ball park in the world. I'm up next. I don't want to show off or nothing like that, but as I step up to the tea I can't help think-