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 flashed you," I snorts. "Who the—who is this Mabel?"

"Miss Murray is in charge of the cigar counter," says the Kid. "She is a charming girl, all the more so for her naïve inconventionality. I like her immensely, and if you in any way intimate to her that I am a prize fighter, I think I shall murder you."

"Well," I remarks, "all I can say is that you are a pig for punishment with the regard to the ladies, Kid, and that's that! Go to it—this mere regular monthly romance of yours will only last a week or so at the most and then—"

"This girl is different!" snaps the Kid. "There's no pretense, no affectation about her. Her frankness—"

"Oh, all right, go ahead," I butts in, as we step outa the elevator. "As long as you don't claim she understands you and the etc., I guess it ain't fatal yet!"

As soon as we're in the room I breaks the glad tidin's: "I have got Kennedy again for you as per your instructions. We fight him six rounds or less in Philly, two weeks from to-morrow, for the modest stipend of $750, come what may. Now, Kid, you gotta train hard for this baby and—"

"I'm ready to step into the ring right now!" he cuts me off impatiently. "I'll start light training to-morrow—at present I need relaxation. Lord, that girl will think I've been kidnaped. Back in an hour!" and he's outa the door.

What could you do with a kid like that?

From then until the night we rolled up to the jammed and howlin' clubhouse in sweet old Philly, Kid Roberts and the fair Mabel was constant playfellows. By hang-