balance with a straight left. With fifty-five seconds to go, Kid Roberts planted a left hook under the jaw and the champ tottered. Another left to the chin sent Young to his knees. He arose unsteadily, just in time to beat the count, and both the referee and the Kid called to the champ's handlers to throw in the towel. Instead, Young's seconds bawled for him to clinch, as the bell would save him in about twenty seconds.
The champ was too far gone for advice, however. He grazed the Kid's face with a weak left, and an instant later crashed to the canvas face down from a right to the point of his jaw. The gong clanged just three seconds after the referee had counted Young out, but it was fifteen minutes later before he was able to leave his corner!
Well, while Kid Roberts was shakin' Young's limp glove and tellin' him the old stuff about what a game fighter he was, Pancho Nogales rushed about like a wild man, almost cryin' with joy. The six which had lost half a million on the Kid's victory arose and went into the house, seemin'ly not the least bit disturbed by their hard luck. I left the Kid in the capable hands of Ptomaine and the other handlers and rushed up to Pancho for our hundred thousand bucks. Pancho throwed his arms around me and kissed me on both cheeks.
"Ah, but that was magnificent!" he says. "A contest to thrill the gods. Come—you shall have your reward!"
I followed him down to the room with the heavily barred vault, and after openin' between 65 and 124 locks, he swings wide the door and tells me to dash in
