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 almost meetin' in a curvin', shaggy line as he shot off that stool like he'd been released with a spring. The other guy was tough and willin', but that wasn't enough. Stillwell hit him with everything but the club's license and the, floorin' his man three times before the referee declared a armistice. His handlers dragged him to his corner, still lookin' back at what he left on the floor and still snarlin'. Joan's bloodcurdlin' brother wasn't satisfied with just a win—he wanted to finish his man. That baby was a fightin' fool!

Well, Young Stillwell liked to passed away when the club matchmaker banged on his dressin'-room door and told him that the manager of the world's heavyweight champion wished a word with him. This man-eatin' tiger was so timid that he couldn't speak.

I was already plannin' how I'd ease him along, teach him to hit from the shoulder, and knock 'em stiff with one wallop, instead of beatin' 'em down slowly with a hundred pulled from the ankle.

He nearly went cuckoo with joy when I told him he would get a chance to help condition Kid Roberts for his comin' championship battle with Knockout Pierce, as part of his own trainin', and I could of signed him to a agreement right then and there givin' me 90 per cent of his earnin's. But I give Young Stillwell a fair contract—in fact, what many's the pilot would call a sucker contract, with me the sucker.

Within the week Jimmy McManus, the fight promoter, called me and Knockout Pierce's manager into a conference, with the results that the date for the big quarrel was fin'ly set for two months later. Knock-