with both gloves. As a matter of fact, in a couple of days the bouts between Kid Roberts and Frankie Nolan had developed into real fights whilst I let 'em last. Mr. Frankie was tryin' nobly all the time and I knew it when I cut the rounds short a minute or more to prevent the Kid from maybe gettin' butted over the eye by this big, flounderin' hulk which was grimly bent on knockin' him cold!
Instead of gettin' Kid Roberts peeved, this sudden dangerous change in Frankie Nolan actually pleased him. After each setto, he'd slap the glowerin' Francis heartily on the back, tellin' him he was improvin' daily and givin' him the best workouts of anybody in the camp. Why shouldn't Frankie be givin' Kid Roberts the best workouts, when Frankie was tryin' his darndest to put the Kid away?
Four days before Kid stepped into the ring with Bob Young for the world's heavyweight championship, it happened! The Kid had boxed two fast rounds each with Ptomaine Joe, Bud Johnson, a big dinge, and K. O. Stone, a good welterweight we used to put a edge on the Kid's speed. Frankie Nolan was saved for last as usual—always the stiffest workout of the day. I looked around for Frankie impatiently, not wantin' the Kid to cool off between these bouts, and there's Frankie industriously workin' the pulley weights against the wall on the other side of the gym. I run over to him.
"C'mon, c'mon, Big Boy!" I says, "Get in there with the Kid and do your stuff. What's the idea of the physical culture?"
"If you don't like it, pay me off!" snarls Frankie,
