takes to a leaf of cabbage and soon had his weary handlers wishin' they had entered the ministry instead of the ring!
The daily routine at the camp run as smaoth as a lawyer's tongue and the only annoyance was the burly Mr. Ptomaine Joe. The Kid says Ptomaine kept him from gettin' the blues, but to me he was just unnecessary overhead! He never could master the first rule of boxin', which is simply to keep yourself off the floor. His idea of conditionin' himself for a mill was to go out and get a shampoo and his face massaged and it was the same as impossible to keep him off the gin and on the gym.
The two unlucky bouts of Ptomaine's in which he run a poor second by no means killed off his interest in the manly art of breakin' noses. Day or night there wasn't a minute that he wasn't pesterin' me to get him a scrap with anyone, any weight, any color, over any distance, and at any price! Even the Kid kept urgin' me to give this tamale a chance, so to keep 'em both quiet and present myself with some rest, I signed Ptomaine to swap swings with Two-Punch McGazzati, heavyweight champion of Lake Erie, in a six-round preliminary to the Kid Roberts-Knockout Ford meelee.
"You think I'm a mug, hey?" says Ptomaine joyfully, when I told him he was scheduled for another fearful pastin'. "Well, you're due for the surprise of your life. I'll clout 'at mock turtle so cold 'at when he comes to his clothes won't fit him!"
"If you're able to answer the gong for round two, you'll surprise me to the swoonin' stage!" I says. "Still
