somebody was goin' to take it off him, he swears he wouldn't even let Young meet the Kid at checkers, parcheesi, or marbles!
In the meanwhile Kid Roberts is standin' right on the brink of a nervous breakdown, because of the pushin' around he's gettin' on all sides. His wife won't give him a tumble, he's gettin' fearful answers to his appealin' letters to her, and now he's lost a chance at Young's title which would make him independent financially and let him step down from the ring. After watchin' him pacin' the floor at nights for the worst part of a week, duckin' the dinner gong and leapin' in the air like a Russian dancer at the mere openin' of a door, I dragged him off to a medico. The doc looks the boy over, stares at the ceilin', coughs a couple of times, and then orders a complete rest, recommendin' a trap called Hermit Inn, away up in Mrs. Catskill's Mountains. The pulseclocker says this place is so far from civilization that they still got their first postage stamp to see and it's just the place for Kid Roberts to hide out in and get right.
That was jake with me, but the Kid failed to cuddle up to the prescription. Life in the mountains and bein' busy doin' nothin' thrilled him like it thrills a goldfish to see a glass bowl, Furthermore, bein' a ex-champ, he's satisfied he'll be recognized and his vacation made too hard to take by the curious. At this critical point, Ptomaine Joe crashes into the breach with a typical maniacal scheme.
"C'mon, Kid," says Ptomaine, when we get back to our stalls at the hotel, "let's all shove off for them
