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 as he fell over against the ropes, mouth open, gaspin', and primed to be bounced.

The Kid stepped away from him to make him lead, and as Kenney swung wildly with both hands to the head, the champ slid inside the blows and planted a short right hook to the jaw. I know Roberts pulled the punch. There was hardly enough kick in it to rock a man, and a few minutes earlier Kenney would of brushed it off like a fly. But now it was all different! Out of condition and exhausted by his own wild swingin', the Bone Crusher toppled to his knees with a crash that shook the ring.

He paid no attention to the referee's count—prob'ly didn't know what it was all about—but turnin' his head around he snarled somethin' at the cuckoo mob, which was on its feet screamin' at him. Slowly and painfully Kenney pulled himself upright at the count of "six," a thin, crimson stream tricklin' from one corner of his mouth, where the Kid had prob'ly loosened a tooth. He spread his tremblin' legs wide apart to brace himself upright, and faced the Kid with danglin', useless arms, his glarin' eyes the livest portion of his tired body. Settin' his jaw, Kenney stares grimly into the Kid's troubled features.

"Go ahead, old-timer," pants this twenty-nine carat gamester, "they ain't nothin' to hinder yuh now!"

With the deleerious mob bellerin' for murder, show me the champion or preliminary burn which wouldn't of measured this guy and knocked him stiff!

But Kid Roberts drew back and looked sharply at the beaten Hurricane for a instant, and then, as Kenney suddenly swayed on his feet, the Kid stepped for-