He trained with no more ambition than you'll find in a tribe of snails. The old pep was gone and amazed sparrin' partners punched him around to their hearts' content. I rode him night and day, but I might as well of bawled out a dead man. Less than three weeks before the quarrel he was as soft and flabby as a piece of liver and just about as dangerous to a sweet puncher like this Young, which I'd seen go and knew to be lots of scrapper. I can't do nothin' with the Kid and I'm set to cancel the fight to save him from enterin' the ring a set-up, when Lady Luck puts on the ice for the rest of the world and commences to flirt with me. As usual, with the ladies, I got the worst of it!
One day, as warm as the vestibule to Hades, me and Kid Roberts is walkin' down Broadway with Ptomaine Joe. We're broilin' in our own fat, what I mean, as we pound perspirin'ly along them sizzlin' pavements, sinkin' to our ankles in the asphalt at street crossin's, which is as hot as only Gotham asphalt can get in July. All of a sudden a big foreign automobile draws up to the curb and a hearty voice sings out:
"As I live and breathe, Kane Halliday!"
We stop short, and Kid Roberts swings around swiftly, starin' at a classy, swell-dressed young bozo which is at the wheel of this horseless carriage smilin' at him. At first the Kid looks puzzled, but a answerin' grin soon spreads across his handsome face. He steps over to the curb, and the two of 'em shakes each other's hands off, whilst me and Ptomaine imitates a background. We ain't got long to wait, though, because the Kid calls us over.
