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 that right uppercut into the air without a idea in the wide, wide world where it's goin' to land. Of course, he has hopes. As it happened, it caught McCabe on the chin and dazed him, but Enright, with his head buried under this guy's arm, didn't know where it went. All he knows is that he's licked if he don't get away from the terrific body punishment he was gettin', so he flicks up his left and drops the edge of it sharply on McCabe's neck. That's what finished McCabe—the rabbit punch, Kid, not the right uppercut! You and the newspaper guys is watchin' the fight. Me, I'm watchin' Enright, because you're goin' to fight him and I want to see everything he's got. And that's why we don't box that murderin' yellah dog."

We was at the hotel by this time, but the Kid don't make a crack till we get up to our rooms—just keeps shakin' his head.

"My God," he says to me fin'ly, "when I get out of this game I'll be the happiest man in the world!"

"I'll be the unhappiest," I says, "because I will then have to drive a truck!"

He throws over my shoulder a arm which in three years has turned him in close to a quarter of a million. "You'll quit the ring when I do," he grins, "and come in as an equal partner with father and me in whatever we undertake."

"I'd make a wonderful pillar of Wall Street," I says. "Nope, Kid, your intentions is great, but your judgment is terrible! When you step down I'll get me a battler or two and continue on."

"When I step down," he repeats. "That brings us back to Enright. We have a fifty-thousand-dollar for-