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 off for a bit—postpone this bout with Enright. If the break comes in Mexicali Oil—you recall that stock I spoke to you about the other day?—if, as I say, the break comes, we may not need your three hundred thousand so imperatively."

"Dad," says the Kid, still grinnin', "just how much money have you put in Mexicali Oil?"

"About every penny I possess," says the old man, calmly knockin' the ash off his cigar.

The Kid throws up both hands and makes a face. "You're incurable, dad," he says, pretendin' to be sore—and then he turns and laughs to the others. "Now do you see how necessary it is for me to earn that three hundred thousand? Dad will have us both broke again in a couple of days!" We've all got up from the table by this time and the Kid throws his arm affectionately around his father's shoulders. "Father," he says with a wink, "I'm going to invest my end of the purse for this fight in a stock that in the matter of returns will make your wildest plunges of the old days seem tame. I expect at least three to one for my original investment!"

"What is the stock called?" asks the old man. "I'll look it—"

"You won't find this listed anywhere!" the Kid shuts him off. "Now, dad, don't ask questions. Wall Street is your game, mine is boxing—temporarily at least. You stick to your operations and I'll stick to mine, and after I've fought Enright we'll see who's ahead!"

The old man nods. "Very well, Kane," he says, "I won't interfere again."

But he did.