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 "Mrs. Kenney," he says, "this is a terrible thing—but it had to be! There was no way—"

"I'm glad he was whipped," butts in the remarkable Mrs. Kenney, meetin' the Kid's eye. "Now maybe—he'll—stay—home—with—me!"

Yet when Roberts reaches down to sponge Kenney's face, she knocks his arm away.

"Let him alone!" she says fiercely and covers the Bone Crusher's face with her arms. "Go away and leave him with me. You've done enough!"

Girls is a bit odd, hey?

A announcement is made to the mob that the Kid Roberts-Hurricane Kenney bout is off—on account of Kenney havin' hurt his arm in trainin', So that was that.

Being terrible tough, the Bone Crusher is in shape to start back to dear old Chickasha with the Missus in a hour. By usin' her nut, his charmin'-wife has saved him his dough, the humiliation of gettin' a proper pastin' before the crowd, and likewise convinced him that ranchin' is a better game than fightin'. The deepest regret Kenney seemed to have when he come to was that the only time his wife had ever seen him fight was the holocaust just finished in which he run second and he remarks half mournfully to Roberts:

"She must think I'm a hell of a fighter, now!"

The Kid shook his hand warmly and told him he had gave him the hardest battle he'd had or ever hoped to have in his life. Then he turns to Mrs. Kenney.

"And now," he says, grimly, "perhaps you'll explain