in' around, throwin' rights and left at the air, whilst the crowd watches in awe.
Both me and Kid Roberts had to hoid Ptomaine which immediately had violent designs on this fellow's health. Some of the college boys sees us and we're pushed in and introduced to "Kid Roberts," and it certainly must of been a peculiar sensation for the Kid to be made acquainted with a jobbie which was posin' as himself!
This big sapolio sneers when Jim Barnaby scornfully tells him we're poet, playwright, and artist. I thought, or rather hoped, he was goin' to choose one of us.
"The idea of a guy as big as you writin' poultry!" he grunts to Kid Roberts. "I suppose you do embroidery too, don't you?"
The college kiddies laughs and Ptomaine's neck muscles begin to swell, but Kid Roberts just smiles pleasantly.
"I have been proficient at lacing!" he says.
I'll say he was. He's laced 'em all!
Well, bein' convinced that this parsnip had no idea just who we really was, the three of us commenced to ask him questions about his alleged box fights, and it was a scream to watch his frantic attempts to keep from bein' trapped. The lunch gong was all that saved him!
For the next two or three days the atmosphere around Hermit Inn was the same as the atmosphere used to be in a front-line trench before the lieutenant looked at his wrist watch, tightened his tin hat, and
