"By Gad, you butted him, Daniels!" comes the angry voice of Logan. I saw you! I thought you were more of a sportsman than—"
"But your grandmother!" laughs Daniels nastily, lookin' to the pop-eyed crowd for applause. "I hit him with a right-hand punch, as he well knows. But that's the traditional excuse of the prize fighter hurt in training—he was butted by an awkward sparring partner. Bah!"
"It's all right, old fellow," puts in Kid Roberts, whilst me and Ptomaine is cleanin' and bandagin' the cut. "I know it was an accident."
"Very well, if you choose to call it that," says Daniels coolly. "However, any time you'd like to continue our little bout, you'll find me ready!"
With that he climbs through the ropes and vanishes in the crowd, which melts away like fried ice. Kid Roberts looks after him thoughtfully.
"Joe," he says to me, "I think you were right about that chap. He's a bad egg!"
It took four stitches to close the Kid's eyebrow, and that removed boxin' from his trainin' program for the next week. He wanted to wear a head guard and keep on with his regular routine, but I was takin' no chances till the cut was full healed. I could of been sent to the gallows for what I was thinkin' about this Richmond Daniels and I would of went there with a smile could I of carried my thoughts about him into effect! If there's anything I loathe, next to fried parsnips, it's these big mugs which insists on workin' out with a first-class fighter when the latter's in trainin'. There's
