pop-eyed sport writers done it full justice, they did for a fact! Plenty breakfast ham and eggs growed cold and plenty wives growed hot the next mornin', whilst propped against the sugar bowl the sport page was hungrily devoured by friend husband.
But speakin' of alligator pears, there was a little coincident connected with that battle of the century which failed to appear in the interestin' reports of it. That's because the newspaper guys didn't know nothin' about it. I do! Like the color in a two-buck shirt, it's bound to come out eventually, so why not now?
After we come back to Gotham from the noted Catskill Mountains Kid Roberts goes into a serious conference with me and Ptomaine Joe. The Kid was all business and laughs was conspicuous by their absence! Without wastin' no time on preliminaries, Kid Roberts says he's just the opposite to satisfied with the headway he's been makin' toward the world's championship. His last three bouts has been fought on the exterior of fight clubs and all he's got out of 'em was the exercise. Not so good!
There was still much moan in the Kid's matrimoany, too. Dolores is tourin' the State, campaignin' for a seat in the Senate. She stubbornly refused to give Kid Roberts a tumble till he checked out of the fight racket. This is somethin' the Kid won't do till he's built up a important bank roll and since his attempted comeback he's barely clicked off expenses. In other words, the boy's tired of wearin' straw hats in the winter time. He's gettin' nowheres and somethin' must be done. That's the way the Kid put it up to me,
