I certainly had no idea of lettin' him see Kid Roberts work out and study the Kid's style, when we're goin' to fight his man if the Kid stops Fleming. But Kid Roberts didn't seem to care whether Eddie seen him do his stuff or not and the results was that this jobbie sits around watchin' the Kid train and tryin' to get rid of him was like tryin' to get rid of asthma. Well, this stuff got on my nerves, what I mean, and one day I nailed Edward when he's startin' into the gym.
"Outside!" I commands, barrin' the way. "I can't let you in here no more on account of the Kid's health. He's liable to catch somethin' from you!"
"You better make him shorten that right hook of his and time his straight left, or what he'll catch from Mister Fred Fleming will be pitiful!" sneers Toledo Eddie. "I come up here to look at a world beater and all I see is a good preliminary boy!"
"You got a coke peddler's nerve comin' up here at all!" I says. "Ain't you got no more brains than to visit this camp openly? If the sport writers ever gets wind of you bein' here, they'll swear we're fixin' to make the Kid Roberts-Bob Young fight one of them things!"
"Hold everything!" says Eddie. "That's a bout we'll take up later. What I'm interested in now is the Kid Roberts-Fred Fleming quarrel. Come on down to the beach where there's nobody around but dumb little fishes and the close-mouthed clams. I want to proposition you. Don't get rosy—let me speak my piece and you can take it or leave it. I got to make the noon
