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 At this interestin' point Knockout Burns come slouchin' up with aold sweater throwed over his shoulders, ready for his daily workout with the Kid. He sees Hamilton, also in ring togs, talkin' to Nada Nice, which same is lookin' up into the big fellow's face like it was the Garden of the Gods and she was gettin' her first flash at it. Knockout growls and his thick upper lip draws away from the snaggled teeth underneath.

"Look at the big goof," he sneers, talkin' to me, but purposely raisin' his voice. "Always posin' in front of some skirt! I wisht they'd let me step a couple of frames with that bozo—you can tell Russia I wouldn't hold him up like the Kid does. Maybe I ain't no world's champion or the like, but I'm champion of that guy, anyways!"

A couple of birds looked around curiously and a camera man laughed. I seen Nada's eyes sparkle as Hamilton stared at Knockout Burns and then back at her. He forced a smile and just for a instant a look flashed in Nada's eyes—the look that is a woman's way of callin' you whatever particular name makes you want to kill! Hamilton walks over to Knockout Burns and deliberately looks him up and down.

"Ah—like to—ah—warm up a bit, while you're waitin' for your—ah—master?" he says, coolly enough.

Knockout Burns tore the sweater off his shoulders with one snatch, licked his lips, and says "Aaaaah!" with the relish of a rummy downin' a suddenly discovered shot of bonded hooch.

Right then I went off Nada Nice for life! For from that minute this Young Hamilton, which both me