busier than Forty-second and Broadway at 8 p. m. First a football team and their confederates arrive, then along comes this new sensation which is now downstairs bein' welcomed to death. If Hermit Inn was quiet, then so's a steam drill!
Anyways, as it's a hobby of mine to be curious, I went down and interviewed one of the jolly students.
"What's this guy's racket?" I asks, noddin' to the flurry-creatin' newcomer.
The young man stops hollering "Hurray!" long enough to gaze at me in simple amazement.
"D'ye mean to say you don't know who he is?" he asks me, like how I can be so ignorant and live.
"I can get affidavits to that effect," I says promptly.
"Well," says Mr. Student, "that's Kid Roberts!"
Hot towel!
I stare at the boy closely, but he don't seem to be clownin'—he means what he says, that's a cinch.
"Listen," I says. "What gives you the maniacal idea that this tomato is Kid Roberts? Did he claim he was the Kid?"
"Well—yes and no," says the college boy. "When he arrived, one of the fellows greeted him as Kid Roberts and he acknowledged the salutation—after a momentary embarrassment."
"I can easy understand the momentary embarrassment!" I says, curlin' my lip.
"So can I," says my young friend. "He probably hoped to pass unrecognized here, and our discovery of his identity annoyed him."
