bein' incessantly pie-eyed on our hands, failed to hit me as the proper caper for a guy tryin' to battle his way up to the heavyweight championship, as the Kid was.
"Thanks very much, Mister Nogales," I says. "But I'm afraid we'll all have to check out. If Kid Roberts ain't back at his trainin' camp by to-night, there'll be a fearful squawk from the promoters and"
"Oh, bother the old promoters!" butts in Maida, with a tantalizin' smile at the waverin' Kid. "Please stay, Mister Roberts, won't you? I assure you you're being signally honored. General Nogales rarely pleads with a guest to stay—I never have before!"
With that Cutey for your lawyer you'd get off with a reprimand for blowin' up the White House!
The Kid turns to me. "Frankly, Joe," he says, "the general's invitation appeals to me. The bout with Bob Young has been practically postponed, and we may as well stay in these delightful surroundings a few days before returning to the United States. It will afford us all a much-needed rest, and I feel it would be extremely discourteous to refuse the general's hospitality."
With that, before I can say a word, he bows to Pancho and Maida. "We accept your invitation with pleasure," he says.
"Hot coffee!" bawls Ptomaine, half-ways through his jug, "'at's what I call usin' your head for more than a barber's playground!"
"Gracia, señors, I am delighted!" says Pancho, slappin' his hands together and smilin' strangely.
