Roberts the only ones not partakin' thereof, Pancho begged us to stay a few days at the hacienda. He's a old man, he says, practically shut off from the world and a educated guy like Kid Roberts comin' down there has been a godsend to him. He wants to talk about books, plays, the European situation, etc., and so forth, all stuff of which, I must say, he had a amazin' knowledge. He promised to send into town and have professional entertainers brought down to amuse us. He swore he'd speak to the right people in Tia Juana, people which was obligated to him for past favors, and the championship fight would be allowed to go on. In fact, he offered us everything but the Pacific Ocean and only stopped when his breath failed him.
Ptomaine Joe takes a long, lingerin' look at Maida, who's Alice-blue eyes is fastened pleadin'ly on Kid Roberts.
"Pankie," says Ptomaine, "what my boy friends is goin' to do I don't know, but what I'm goin' to do is park here till Niagara Falls runs backward!"
Pancho beams on this master mind and turns to a servant. "José," he bawls, "one jug for the señor, pronto!"
"Cheese!" says Ptomaine in a awed voice. "He's a mind reader too!"
"You will stay, then, señors?" asks Pancho eagerly.
Kid Roberts looked a question at me, and I shook my head "No!" I liked old Pancho Nogales, but a few days of my boxer stallin' around with the beauteous Maida, the temptation of them rare wines and cigars, the promised festivities and the prospects of Ptomaine
