devilish part in our lives durin' the next few days was a short, stocky, dark-complexioned old gent with a grizzled beard and a fierce eye. He distributed a ferocious frown amongst the three of us till Maida introduced Kid Roberts and then it was different! Pancho grinned and shook the Kid's hand heartily, clapped his own hands and a couple of dirty little guys run in, all but buryin' their heads in the ground before Pancho. Some sharp commands in Mexican and they scurried away. He kicked each of 'em soundly as they was leavin' and I had to nearly kick Ptomaine Joe's ankle off to stop him from laughin'. Pretty soon the little guys come runnin' back with a jug and glasses.
Kid Roberts politely explained to Pancho that he couldn't touch nothin' more aggressive than water, as he was trainin' for a championship battle in a prize ring and only street fightin' can be well done on booze. I says that went for me too, as I was the Kid's pilot and had to be right or I might send him in there with a knife in his belt and we'd lose on a foul. Pancho looked hurt, but Ptomaine Joe quickly salved his feelin's. He drained his glass at a gulp, made a horrible face, choked, and then smiled from ear to ear. His ear to mine, for instance. Then he reached over and drank my drink and the Kid's. Pancho studied him thoughtfully for a minute and suddenly knocked all the glasses off the table to the floor, at the same time pushin' the jug over to Ptomaine with a invitin' wave of his hand.
"Thanks, Pankie!" says Ptomaine, grabbin' the jug
